Lorîka min [English translation]

We are the nomads of the distances

We are tormented, our wounds are deep

Thirsty and hungry in this wilderness

Elderlies we are, women and young.

Sleep, sleep, my little baby!

You, the patience and peace of my life

You're wilting in front of my eyes

I have no cure for you.

Like savage monsters

They attacked with Napalm

They turned spring into dark and black

They split the sweet life appart.

My son, sweet and valuable life

Today, it is wasted so cheaply

Such a death is

so bitter, hard and dry.