In my little one, in my
In my
Grass flowers in the south
Of love, of love

Sweet benign sleep
Of your mother
Pressed in the mist
Of summer, of summer

And now clots of blood boil
And teeth of milk

And the eyes of soldiers with rage
With foam at the mouth, hunting for prey
Chasing people like wild game
Until the wild blood has not extinguished that
And after the iron in the water, the wounds of the prison
And in the wounds, the poisonous seed of deportation
Because from our land to the sea
No more grass, no more ears of corn, no more figs can grow

Goodbye my little one, the inheritance
Is hidden
In this city
That burns, that burns
In the evening that falls
And in this great sky of fire
For your small death

CONSULTER LES PAROLES ORIGINALES