Slaves flee to a better master,
To protect themselves from the evil one.
The chase of war pursues them,
Sparing neither its own nor strangers —
No one.

Flee west, flee east —
To the Zaporizhian rapids.
Set Cossack sentries, plug
The breaches in the walls of freedom.

There is no freedom without blood —
Someone will have to die.
For your good and mine
There is, alas, no doing without a sacrifice.