For thousands of years, armies have gone to war*
To win victories, the noise of battle their song
For honor, justice and faith, under the spell of justice
Poured out suffering on the people every day Humanity
Guided by generals, officers and the high state to torture themselves to death
Their grave has been dug. Unspeakably many bodies scattered across the field of honor
The wailing of their women, turning into mourning
I myself am victory, my father is war
Peace is my son and he is equal My father did
The reaper sings a battle song, a fool runs joyfully into war
Peace is full of scorn and pale bones are the reward
On blood-soaked ground grows ndy new tyranny
no belief in good, hope is over
Butchers and despots are a new realm of terror
and the old reaper makes all victims equal.