Happy ten thousand’s, everybody,
Russia’s on the lose.
Steel beasts burn on roads and fields,
A war machine’s abuse.

Ten thousand ghosts now haunt the land,
Their turrets torn apart.
Mighty boasts of swift conquest—
Falling, piece by part.

A relic’s march through mud and flame,
A dream of empire old.
Yet rust and fire claim their prize,
As myths of power fold.

Ten thousand wrecks, ten thousand graves,
Yet still the war goes on.
But every tank that meets its fate,
Is one more hope withdrawn.