In the frozen twilight of a Russian night,
Shadows dance on the edge of light,
Where whispers of forgotten souls reside,
In a land where time and sorrow collide.

The cold winds carry tales of despair,
Of battles fought with iron and prayer,
In fields where the snow turns red,
As the echoes of the fallen are widespread.

Beneath the birch trees, silent and still,
Lies the memory of a thousand wills,
Each one a story, a dream unmet,
In the embrace of death, a solemn duet.

Through the mist, the moonlight weaves,
A tapestry of what the night conceives,
In the heart of Russia, deep and vast,
The silent whispers of death forever last.