Песня о Щорсе [Pesnya o Shchorse] [English translation]

A detachment walks along the shore,

passing by from afar,

and walking under the red banner

is the regimental commander.

His head is bandaged,

blood is on his sleeves,

and the bloody trail spreads behind him

across the dewy grass.

"Brothers, whose troops are you,

With whom do you go to war?

Who, under the red banner,

rides wounded with you?"

"We are the sons of labourers,

we're fighting for a new world.

Shchors[1] rides under the banner,

our Red Commander."

In hunger and in cold

their lives have passed on,

but not without reason

has their blood been spilled.

Thrown over the cordon

of the fierce enemy,

we've been hardened in youth,

and honor is our road to follow.

Silence envelops the shoreline,

and their voices have long faded;

the sun sets, and

dew falls once again.

The cavalry is racing now,

the clattering of hooves is heard,

and the red banner of Shchors

waves freely in the wind.