Let the soul of thousand,
Rest for a second more
War can await before lives
Will be again consumed

If I was there in foreign land,
Lives would shine like worthy ore.
Poor the men and their wives,
With their sons indeed deceased.

I would think of you all the time,
In the well with your azure figure.
Torn by the deaths of my friends,
Along with the faith of your heart.

If I will be remembered, be my bride,
Even if Death will haunt me inside.

May you save me, oh lord.