I heard a lot of songs in my native land. They sang about joy and grief to me. But one of these songs hit me hard in my memory. This is the song of the workers of the artillery. Hey, my dear, fire! Hey, my dear, fire! We'll burn ourselves! We'll burn ourselves! We'll burn ourselves! We'll burn ourselves! This is the song of the workers of the artillery. This is the song of the workers of the artillery. Hey, my dear, fire! Hey, my dear, fire! We'll burn ourselves! We'll burn ourselves! But the time has come, And the people rose up. He straightened his bent back And shook off his shoulder With a heavy age-old burden. He raised a baton to his enemies. Hey, my dear, fire! Hey, my dear, fire! We'll burn ourselves! We'll burn ourselves! We'll burn ourselves! We'll burn ourselves! So go ahead, You, great people, Forget your grief and sorrow And in the holy freedom Sing a joyful hymn To your dear native land. Hey, my dear, fire! Hey, my dear, fire! We'll burn ourselves! We'll burn ourselves! We'll burn ourselves! We'll burn ourselves!