This is the tale of the dormant Finland,
About its people and its luck of the draw,
This is the tale of the conquering Russia,
And its victorious dead that never returned.
The Reds began their crushing crusade,
Towards the land where Väinämöinen once lived,
The land of snowy plains and endless nights,
Of a thousand lakes and seven hundred years of enslavement...
Slumber, chains and bloodstained
Swords, steels that clashed in the deafening silence.
The burning rain fell down on the resistance,
How to endure the weight of the world?
This was another kind of war in two fronts,
There's the human foe and the ruthless cold.
And so this land took the form of a big pool,
Where pride got steeped as many lives were lost,
Who were the heroes? Who were the bad guys?
Where was now the place they used to call home?
[Viktoriya Nikolaevna Shestakova]
Our fathers left their homes to reclaim their honour and to fight for the mothers of mothers...
[Markku Hamalainen]
...They sent strangers into our Karelia, and our beloved soil was desecrated.
Total silence... tearful, mournful
Stillness, not even a sound in the blood-red battlefield.
Over this snow,
Snow that once was white,
Lie the heroes,
The heroes from both sides.
The red covers all,
All we have ever known,
Such a grim sight,
A sight so hard to describe,
Blood-red snow.
And so this tragic tale came to an end,
When peace was signed once blood had been spilt,
Who did survive? Who did win...
If both of their banners were red in the end?
The Finns gave up their sacrosanct land,
The Russians got what they had yearned for so long,
But in the end, what did they all get for themselves?
Nothing but a handful of snow.
Bloodstained, cold and fragile
Snow, the very same snow that covered their bones.
Over this snow,
Snow that once was white,
Lie the heroes,
The heroes from both sides.
The red covers all,
All we have ever known,
Such a grim sight,
A sight so hard to describe,
Blood-red snow.
