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Consciousness is a broken gun!Fallen faith or heritage!

Zindavad/Murdavad is echoing on the streets

for years like a fairy tale 

The same story is being passed down

Life is covered with a thick blanket.

One day,

In the hope of seeing their own sunshine,

Many people have left,

Those who stretch the bed,

Those who are dragged to prison,

Those who have thunder in their chests, nails stuck in their feet,

Climbing on our backs,

break The mattress has been turned over.

I open the old window of Makkissya and cry. The fever is getting worse.

The foot has become so loose that it cannot move

The life has become so rotten that it cannot fall on its own floor

Even the path that runs at the speed of the wind is now long and narrow

I scream like the sky will split

But, the voice will become a knot

They will be buried Pitfalls

No one will be low

The earth will be stable and long

That prosperity, that sweetness, that peace

That trust, that warmth Can you embrace?

Can you pick those flowers again?

Not being able to weave a dream

I see a wave of people leaving the slums from the window

Now I hear that my heart is dry

Now I hear that spring will never come back here

This cold still begs for blood

It's pointless to cry for this lice-like slum They say they are their own

I close the window

someone shouts - Give us blood, give us blood

Oh, one piece Those who have cut off our sun like bread

Is Tuwalo still looking for blood 

?