| The spirit of | |
| Prussia will burn in hearts | |
| Until the holy flame of | |
| Perkuno is burning | |
| In the heart of sacred woods | |
| Invisible for eyes of simple mortals | |
| The thunder announces the birth of the hero | |
| In nightly silence of the sleeping earth | |
| And the lightning's brightening the baby's face | |
| And his first cry that breaks the darkness. | |
| And fierce wind echoes the baby's cry | |
| And thrills the sky, anticipating the events | |
| Tears off the leaves from ancient trees, | |
| Rejoices the great omen. | |
| The new-born mind as blank paper, | |
| Clean, empty and light like the calm surface of water, | |
| As the grown sprout tears the air apart, | |
| Gathers dust of life on the fresh leaves. | |
| And with the long root absorbing dirt | |
| From all that are going to rotten near | |
| The sprout is hardening, it doesn't want to, | |
| But it will wither like those near that couldn't leave. | |
| Born to be | |
| Defender of | |
| Native Land | |
| Born to be rain, giving life | |
| Born to be free as a proud bird | |
| Flying in the sky | |
| Born to be stronger than the sword and the storm | |
| Born to be the river's flow | |
| Born to be boiling wolf's blood to be | |
| Flame of Hope | |
| Born to be himself amongst the lost souls | |
| The black hands of storm-clouds are clenching the sun | |
| The wind is bringing anxiety, thrilling the ear. | |
| Beyond the dark horizon the seed of war is ripening | |
| Bringing the smell of death. | |
| The warrior will fight for his people, | |
| For the rivers and forests of grey gods, | |
| For the holy flame of | |
| Perkuno The sunlight is fading... | |
| The day is dying away scratching the sky with its last rays | |
| The last quiet day before the war | |
| The last calm before the storm | |
| The ground is trembling already | |
| And Prussia stands still awaiting |
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