He is just a novice paratrooper, and of course he will be scared.

He checked his equipment to make sure that his backpack was tight.

He checked his equipment to make sure that his package was tightly packed.

He had to sit and listen to those terrible engine roars.

He had to sit and listen to the terrible roar of the engine.

You won't dance again.

You don't have to dance anymore.

Chorus:

chorus

Bloody, bloody, what a terrible way to die.

God, god, what a terrible road.

Bloody, bloody, what a terrible way to die.

God, god, what a terrible road.

Bloody, bloody, what a terrible way to die.

God, god, what a terrible road.

He won't dance again.

He doesn't have to dance anymore.

"Is everyone happy?" The sergeant looked up and shouted.

The police officer was checking the queue and said loudly, "Is everyone happy?"

Our hero replied feebly, "Yes", and then they made him stand up.

Our hero (paratroopers) gave a weak answer "Yes" and then helped him stand up.

He jumped into the cold wind and untied his fixed rope.

He jumped into the cold wind and his parachute cord was untied.

He won't dance again.

He doesn't have to dance anymore.

He counted for a long time, counted loudly, and waited for the electric shock.

He counted for a long time and counted loudly, waiting for that exciting moment.

He felt the wind, he felt the cold, he felt the terrible drop.

He felt the cold wind, he felt the cold, and he felt the terrible raindrops.

His reserve of silk overflowed and wrapped his leg.

The parachute strap fluttered and wrapped around his leg.

He won't dance again.

He doesn't have to dance anymore.

The lifter was wrapped around his neck and the connector broke his dome.

The traitors (referring to the floating parachute ribbon) wrapped around his neck and the umbrella rope tore the top of the umbrella.

The hanging rope was knotted on his skinny bones.

Dancing silk knotted around his bones.

The canopy became his shroud and he dashed to the ground.

The sky became his clothes (cover), and he soon fell to the ground.

He won't dance again.

He doesn't have to dance anymore.

The days of his life, love and laughter kept flashing through his mind.

The days when he lived, fell in love and laughed kept coming to his mind.

He thought of the girl in his hometown, the girl he left behind.

He remembered the girl behind the house that he had forgotten.

He thought of the doctors and wondered what they would find.

He thought of the medical students and wondered what they had found.

He won't dance again.

He doesn't have to dance anymore.

The ambulance was at the scene and the jeep was running wildly.

Ambulances are busy at the scene and jeeps are running in the wild.

The medical staff jumped up, screamed with joy, rolled up their sleeves and smiled.

Medical students are jumping, cheering and laughing with their sleeves rolled up.

Because the last parachute failure was more than a week ago.

Because it's been a week or more since the last failure.

He won't dance again.

He doesn't have to dance anymore.

He hit the ground with a bang, and his blood gushed out.

He hit the ground and made the sound of "Splat" (onomatopoeia), and his blood was so high.

People heard his comrades say, "What a terrible way to die."

When his comrades heard of his death, they all said, "What a cruel (difficult) death."

He lay there, rolling in a pool of blood.

He lay there, tumbling with blood loss.

He won't dance again.

He doesn't have to dance anymore.

There is blood on the vertical board and brains on the chute.

Those traitors (I mean the ribbons above) have blood on them and brains on parachutes.

Intestines hung on his paratrooper suit.

Intestines were left out of his paratrooper suit, trembling.

He was in a mess. They picked him up and poured him out of his boots.

He made such a mess that people helped him up and took off his boots.

He won't jump again.

He doesn't have to dance anymore.