The son of progress

Masses cover a crude granite
The wood is covered by fresh leafage
How perfectly blood is burning
Under the heel of gray-haired sky
Wild shout - and you are killed
The proud beast rescue forest
You wished to go forward
Don't care of the old world
Broke off alive flesh
The son of progress, your idol
The firmament will become dark
All earth - the land of tombs
We shall ascend, raising banners of fight
Our fire devours the center of vanity
The black rain fed the rests (remnants) of tops
Who are you? in your souls breath of machines
In your hearts breath of machines
By lie boils your pale blood
The son of progress guide you
In terrible chaos, again and again
Rise, regain, the strayed tribe
Let alive blood flows