CHORUS: Oppressed land of ours! You cannot have the sweet name of mother now that you have become a tomb for your sons.
From orphans, from those who mourn, some for husbands, some for children, at each new dawn a cry goes up to outrage heaven.
To that cry heaven replies as if moved to pity, oppressed land, it would proclaim your grief for ever.
The bell tolls constantly for death but no-one is so bold as to shed a vain tear for the suffering and dying.
Oppressed land of ours! My homeland, oh,my homeland!