Celtiberian citadel, overnight surrounded by the enemy
Judged and condemned by marcius' armies, the armies of Rome
Condemned for being loyal to their traditions,
Their culture and their blood

Mountains of gold and silver,
Mountains of women and children rose in the middle of the town
They elected to die before to fall in the invader's dominion
And to live without honour

Fifty warriors with a horrible destiny were entrusted to guard them
The unjust battle marched on
The invader's supremacy weakens by the celtiberian anger
Death came over the warriors, a prideful death
Rivers of blood flew through flames and wealth
Astapa was burning

Flames of honour, collective suicide,
Ashes of a great town which layer under the live coals
They decided to die with honour, neither to live like slaves
No valuable object reached the enemy's bloody hands

They only managed to decrease their army
Hundreds of romans died, many before the armoured resistance,
The rest under the flames of their avarice
The wasteful blood feeds since centuries our thirst for revenge and fate

Marcius wins the battle but he lost much more
Between the strong walls of astapa