In the frozen silence of the night,
Where shadows dance with pale moonlight,
The whispers of the past arise,
Echoing through the Russian skies.

Beneath the blanket of pure white snow,
Lies a tale of sorrow, a tale of woe,
Souls long lost to the icy breath,
Of the cold, unyielding Russian death.

The winds howl a mournful tune,
As stars flicker under a ghostly moon,
Remembering lives that once were bright,
Now shrouded in the eternal night.

Yet in the stillness, a story is told,
Of courage and heart, both brave and bold,
For even in death’s icy embrace,
Their spirits linger, in this sacred place.