how many songs are there yet to come?
tell me, cuckoo, and sing…
where am i to live, where am i to die?
lying on the ground, or flying like a star in the sky?
sunshine above, come look at me
my hand has now turned into a fist
if there’s a way out, then show it to me
who will tread upon these lonely steps again?
who is strong and brave? who will pay the price in battle
with their lives?
very few remain in our memory,
with a sound mind, and a strong hand in the ranks
where have you gone now, my freedom, where are you?
who’s the lucky one meeting you again this morning,
it’s good with you around, but it’s bad without
but my head and shoulders can hold out underneath the whip