(transl. by Tanya J. Wolfson)

Rise, my soldiers of brave mettle,
Let's fall in and end the scuttle.
We shall march as stormclouds settle
On this eve of our great battle.

It's hard work to be victorious,
But hard work is in our nature.
We're just ordinary heroes,
Though we're pretty short in stature.

But our enemies can't hear us,
Their fixed gazes haven't found us.
They are not the stuff of heroes,
But they are the size of mountains.

Cold as icebergs, heavy-treading,
Crushed by boredom, stiff with tension.
We'd have conquered them already,
But they pay us no attention!

They don't see us form for battle,
Sluggish giants, cold and hardened!
That's why, brave but very little,
We get trivially pardoned.