Ah, the road dust and mist ,
Cold , anxiety, yes steppe weeds .
Can not know its share ,
Maybe wings are folded on the steppe .
Sweeps dust under the boots , steppes , fields,
A range of raging flames , but bullets whistle .
Ah, the road dust and mist ,
Cold , anxiety, yes steppe weeds .
Shot burst, the crows circling
Your friend is dead in the weeds .
A further road racing , dust , swirling ,
And all around the earth smokes a foreign land .
Ah, the road dust and mist ,
Cold , anxiety, yes steppe weeds .
Pine edge , the sun rises ,
At the steps of the native son mother waits.
And endless ways, steppes , fields
All look immediately behind us native eyes .
Ah, the road dust and mist ,
Cold , anxiety, yes steppe weeds .
Whether snow , wind , remember , friends,
We can not forget these roads .
