Mum, Sing to the Wind

An old Palestinian song:

' Mother, sing to the wind.

Sing the old song of my people.

The sharp wound of a dagger is better than being ruled by a scoundrel.

Mother, I am returning,

So hide me in your eyes.

Oh, how much anguish and sorrow

I have seen in my days.

My life has passed in so much agony.

Mother, sing to the wind,

Sing this song of my people.

Better the sharp wound of a dagger

Than to be ruled by a scoundrel.

Oh how I wish my chest were a bridge

So you, (my people) can cross over it

And you and I can live a Palestinian life together.

Mother, sing to the wind...'

Mum, Sing to the Wind