(2.parte) We've paid in hell since Moscow burned As cossacks tear us piece by piece Our dead are strewn a hundred leagues Though death would be a sweet release And our grande armee is dressed in rags A frozen starving beggar band Like rats we steal each others scraps Fall to fighting hand to hand Save my soul from evil Lord and heal this soldiers heart I'll trust in thee to keep me Lord, I'm done with Bona (to beginning) Coda |: - |: -parte ______ ____ |1,2,3 | |4