Warrior, dip your arrows in our blood,
And the enemy will lose his feet.

Our blood is not from father-mother,
But God's spit in crippled limbs.

When we die, the earth boils like pitch,
Our blood can enflame a stream of water.

Warrior, dip your arrows in our blood,
One struck by such an arrow — will not live.

Just touched by its shadow — will not live.
No one struck, a fire still remains.

Lightning birds in high nest of thunder
Fall singing dead into the abyss.

We alone, we have no fingers,
We cannot rush upon the enemy —

Warrior, dip your arrows in our blood.