This songs hurt my throat each time I sing it,
Like the song we sang when a relation left,
In dark memory, crossing the red river,
As we swim in the river of our tears.
This song hurt my throat each time I sing it,
Like the song mum and sisters sang when shosh left,
To the forbidden forest of fears,
As the world gathered to mourn the living dead.
This songs hurt my throat each time I sing it,
Like the song the our brothers in the north sing,
Because their peace has been torn into pieces,
Both home and farm has become hell of crisis.
This songs hurt my throat each time I sing it,
Like the song those in Baragoi sing under the canopy
Of giant hunters, who hurt and hunt our sight,
Exchanging our right with their rice.
This songs hurt my throat each time I sing it,
Like the song we're all singing under the rising sun of change,
Striking us, and scorching out our bitter tears,
As we live and wail in the haven of hunger...
...We will keep singing this song,
Until we stop hailing, hoping,voting,
And waiting for the change
That can not change!
