Wolf-brother, wolf-lover,
Over the river the kites hover
Where witch-light glimmers
And tall grass shimmers―
What dead things shall their eyes discover?
What, when the sabers sing in the gloaming,
What, when the gray wolves cease their roaming?
Wolf-lover, wolf-brother,
We are sworn to slay each other.

Gray light glances
Along our lances―
Both of us sons of our Volga mother.
Kites shall feast then ranks burst asunder
And the roar of the red tide hurls us under.
When the white steel glints and the red blood spurts―
Death in the camps and death in the yurts.
When the crimson shadows of twilight fall
We shall be feasts for the white jackal.

Wolf-lover, wolf-brother,
We be sons of the self-same mother,
Though between us flows a red stained tide.
Horse and man
Ride we far,
You for the Khan,
I for the czar,
Wolf-lover, Tartar-brother, ride!