They are gone far

they are gone far
out of this country
out of this county
our children are gone

to reach the metropolis
they left their mother
to gain a new patriotism
they left their father

they are gone far
to forgot about farms
to find a new warm house
no more wheat
no more straw

there is no sweat
on their foreheads
there are no scars
on their hands

the ground is left
and so the wound
and the ancient traditions

but we will wait
we will stay here
working with hands
sweating with foreheads

They are gone far

and the fork will move
wheat and straw
awaiting their cold bodies
for the last time