A crowd is already throwing the band's name into the room.

Then the ratio lands like a command everyone already knows: forty to one.

Baptized in fire, answered right away by the same count.

Guitars and drums grab a straight, hard-running charge—quick, regular, heavy enough not to float.

The verse starts naming silence before a storm, but the band underneath is already advancing.

A few chosen to stand, outnumbered—and the pulse still doesn't flinch.

Hold your ground hits inside a groove that's been holding ground the whole time.

No army may enter that land—the vocal stays rough and forward over those block guitar hits.

Unless you are forty to one. The count keeps tightening the frame.

Undone—one hard shout, then the chorus opens wider.

Baptised in fire, forty to one—harmony lifts, drums drive, same road on a bigger platform.

Soldiers of Poland—short banner lines stacked on that steady motor.

Brought to a halt, while nothing in the band actually stops.

Second verse: September, the rage of the Reich—same forward face underneath.

Mortars and guns in the words; the arrangement just keeps the barrage regular.

I'll face my fate here—personal vow, still no hesitation in the grid.

Bring on all that you've got—the challenge rides the same polished drive.

Undone again, and the chorus comes back earned by accumulation more than surprise.

Same high lift: baptised in fire, forty to one.

Voice drops out. Guitars take the wheel—bright, fast, lead lines cutting across the bed.

A little flash in the pattern—enough to perk the ear after so much clean forward motion.

Always remember—a fallen soldier. The march doesn't soften; the words turn it into memorial.

Fathers and sons at war, repeated until the insistence itself feels like names being kept.

Buried in history—still carved into tempo, not into mourning.

Protected by Polish hand comes back, then the ratio again, almost no wasted space.

Undone—and the final chorus rises straight through.

Baptised in fire, forty to one—one more full banner pass.

Brought to a halt, while the music is still rushing toward the edge.

No—no—no. The shouted refusals break the machine, and the pulse finally lets go in fragments.