Born of the blood of heroes shed,
They are watching devoted near the graves,
Dressing up the altar of those who now are dead,
Free dancing in the wind, no longer slaves!

Flames of fire are flooding the fields again,
With their fragile bodies adorn the earth,
A sweet perfume in the summer’s rain,
A place of hope, a place of the new birth.

With red tears, the fields are watered,
Even though they are still sad, they sing,
With their heart exhausted, shattered,
After any winter is always coming spring!