1. If the swords of turmoil could speak
They would complain of missing my people's lament

2. O sons of Saad son of Ghaith son of Rada'
Death has drunk you like spilled blood

3. And after you the morn is mortgaged
To fruits that do not ripen on branches

4. What people in the soil whose honor
The sun exposed and crossed the orbit

5. Time looked upon them with a look
That made it happy then made it cry