They are marching in Warsaw,
Through their wind and their snow,
With their banners and their anthems,
And their God and their crucifixes.

They are marching in Warsaw,
Scared and proud,
Strong and powerless,
Loving and enraged.

They are marching in Warsaw,
With thundering footsteps,
That’s clapping fades into the sad,
Sad hums of something destined to be lost.

They are marching in Warsaw.
In vain. In vain.