My brother, your burial await you
when you will join those that have gone before you
for a man can't tell history of seven continents
while your birth is running towards your death
make your living to wipe away coming sorrow
though, there shall be lots of tomorrow
for tomorrow never end
till the world will reach the end.

Let your fruit wipe away our tears
for, they shall be our joy and happiness
after you gone, as our custom and tradition
though, the refugee may count it as superstition
wait, let me pardon you and endure
for I have keep my conscience pure
by the time I return to our ancestral fathers above
I shall not be blamed for your impassive

Let me tell you last word of your future peace
one day your soul shall gain peace and cease
a day your heart will gain its freedom
and your body will be laid in the isolated room
but your death is the coming day
when your body will be rigid like a moulded clay
and it shall be taken to the solemn grave
as your heart will have been lifted above.