The sea became rough
And the mountains burst into tears,
Our nightingales are silent
And the sky (is) dark
And my pitiful glance (is) muddy
Good luck, my child!
My head buzzes
Like the hum of the torrent,
My lips dried up
And my breath cut
In this last kiss,
Good luck, my child!
To pester you my creator,
To be damned foreign lands,
You take our little kids
And you leave us in fire,
And we drink so much bile (poison)
When we say ‘’good luck!’’