Om Mani Padme Hum
Rocks soaked in federal blood.
With the wrath of all Suns and Moons
Mahakala tears illusions apart.

Forests of Volnovakha slumber,
Embraced by the dreams of samsara.
Shadows of Buddhist monks
Grip rifles in their hands.

The karma of separatist scum
Is far too rotten,
If Dorje Jambo Lama
Has risen to defend the Dharma.

Demons bow down
To their demonic power.
Demons wear epaulettes,
Devoured by their passions.

Let them bury the body —
But the body is not what matters.
The Lama shall return fearless!
The Lama shall return terrifying!

Children of a dying race,
Strike your shaman drums.
Do you hear it? From Kailash
Ungern laughs loudly!

(Solar Cross)