1812

He wakes up to the song of cannons crying,

And the curtain of smoke that floats above

These soldiers’ heads; his home's heart

Hurting as he's leaving.

He'll be gone for who-knows-how-long,

Could be a year or could be two.

This is the fateful call that draws him closer

To the full stop of his beating heart.

His heart which pounds faster at some party

Where there is more alcohol than blood

Cascading on the white snow,

At a place where you leave your worries out the door,

And let them get frostbitten by the Russian cold.

A gold filling, and no wedding ring.

A set of duelling pistols

A good ear for words of wisdom;

He's gone and she'll be somewhere

A thousand miles apart.

Who wouldn't surrender one's forces

For him to pull the trigger at will?

The danger that soldiers face,

He knows it all too well.

But then, the morning comes too fast

And yet the sun won't melt the ice.

Soldiers stand in line at sunrise

Ready to fight for their countrymen’s lives.

His own country is his mother at home,

His sister, and the woman he loves.

A patch of tulips to prepare us all and say

That this fellow soldier might not come back again.

He undoubtedly is a strong man; brave and true.

Some even dare to say that

With a bit of luck, he can be a great one too.

Death does not faze him as it fazes us;

If that doesn't make him great, then what does?

Please, don't ever stop waiting for him.

As always, just set the table ready for dinner;

No one knows when he'll appear at the doorstep,

Sprinkled by the foreign snows of Borodino.