Slavic lands seem to lose any hope
The peace will not come here soon
Suppressed by the roar of the mob
The truth fled away to the moon

What's left of the glory of past days
Mere words and the shadows of wood
Delight left this green sunny valleys
And darkness fell down like a hood

But those ones, who hear the voices
That whisper old rhymes in the night
Didn't die despite of heavy losses
For land of ancestors they'll fight

Clear waters fast streaming and raging
Shall rise high and with cold winds merge
The powers of great Mother-Nature
Shall light fires of the holy purge

Some fir trees will grow on the barrens
Born of holy life-giving rain
The immortal nation of Sloven
Will populate this lands again

And thunderstorm over the meadows
Will deliver message of gods
The downpour of so needed freedom
Will stream like a river downwards