My Native Land

My Native Land starts there
Where lands disappear in lunar shades
Where the breath of winter leaves the forest in snow
Where frozen dreams dissolve in the horizon

Free ranges whisper their answer
Where I can't find rest
With the hands turned upwards, to where I meet the sunrise
Should I see the Sun, I'll wake up with the dawn

Where wolf packs roam in dark forests
Where gray furs abound in the shadows
Where their growl fall from their hungry hooks to the ground
Where their frightening songs rush to the Moon

Where the Hammering Heart beats against the anvil of the chest
When I end up alone in the Rus' forest
When Rus' sings her song
And I answer with the chant of war!

With my native side, I blissfully I breathe
The ringing of spring leaves and the murmur of rivers
Thunderstorms, over autumn earth
With a pure Russian soul that is whiter than snow

Songs of birds at dawn, the sadness of quiet lakes
The kingdom of dark forests and unfathomable heights
Never to swallow, how a thief stole from us
So that we'd forget forever why we were born

The Fatherland, the Mother of the cherished Russia
Kept in its original purity
In the depths of blue eyes (I swear loyalty to them!)
In white skin and in light hair beauty!

I see my Fatherland in the faces of my relatives
In a strong will and in pure impulses of the soul
In the proud death of all those who did not betray theirs
In the pain of those who continued to fight and live

In the Faith of those who have remained in the ranks forever
Who, clenching his teeth, fell into the bloody snow
Who did not flinch in the last deadly battle
Who fought and became higher than human

The white Race is in our veins a bulwark
The Kingdom of the Aryans in the Spirit that longs for war
My Fatherland is in the Sun that warms generously
And in the glow of the stars, where we will stay

Under the water, frozen in a translucent dream
In an ice tomb in the abyss of worlds
Hidden in our blood, like wisdom from the outside
That will fill our minds with the breath of the ages

In the crypt of the stars, the shadows of the Fathers lurked
That we are fed with anger more and more strongly
And I believe - in the fire of funeral pyres
My Homeland will meet its Sons