Gather our arms and let’s march afar,
Sharp spears, swords, shields and all.
Flood their lands with all their blood,
Streams, rivers and all we could else.
Mercy is a word we should not know,
Kill, slaughter and murder you foe.
Keep your blood cold, behold
There is here, we have come.
Look at them, ha, them dogs,
Farmers with knifes, sticks and logs.
My brothers, show them your sons of men,
Draw your swords and we’ll speak then.
Burn, burn their houses to the ground,
Farm houses to ashes, life to dust.
Burn, burn until your pollute their air.
Taken what you need, all they have.
But, alas, while we were away,
Wives, children and elders stayed,
Another thirsty, ruthless, army like us,
Thrust their swords and killed them thus!
Tears flow, our people, the sight,
What now is left for us to fight?
With blind faith we left our homes,
To home we go to find us alone.
I had a sister, though she’s no more,
Sweet was she, made friends with all the birds.
How many sisters, I killed, by others adored!
Oh no, mindless madness in me, was three thirds,
Forget nor forgive, those monsters I was.
Destroy myself unto me, I must,
A finger may I not lay on any more souls,
To my death, alone I must go…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.