I see women, marching bravely
Bravely onward in an echelon
Their machines will win, they know
They know their time will come
They carry heavy shields made of lead
Passing under lightning strikes
And in each of them, like in a slow dance,
Germinate forgotten roots
Each grain of metal should feel steel in itself
In any workpiece we must see the detail
Every fifth year we herd them in a cage with a lion
This practice requires women to work with a whip
But what will we tell our children, when their mothers go to war?
Children are sensitive people, they'll realize at once
That in each of the women under the armored helmet
Are delicate roots - it's just too dangerous.
You see, an evil general watches after us as we step into the distance
My God, how many turns will that spiral gather into itself?
But what will we tell our children, when their mothers go to war?
What the hell will we do when a woman becomes a war?
But each grain of metal should feel steel in itself
In any workpiece we must see the detail
Still the same general will watch after us as we step into the distance
My God, how many turns will that spiral gather into itself?