Verse 1

Born where the Balkan roads divide,

He crossed the borders, learned to hide.

Polish papers, Romanian name,

Bulgarian roots still fed the flame.

A scout who reads the fields at dawn,

Counts every track before moving on.

Quiet eyes and a steady hand,

He knows each ridge, each mile of land.

Pre-Chorus

Through rain and dust, through steel and stone,

He keeps his nerve; he moves alone.

Chorus

Iron kings, roll through the plain!

German tanks in thunder and rain!

He knows their armor, loves their design,

Cold forged power in a perfect line!

Scout in the dark, with the map held tight—