On an earth once fought, the blood of heroes was carried on; every dignity, every freedom, Now a bath of tears and grief.

The flag is gently lowered, the weapons are automatically silenced; The cry of war has been turned into tears, and the old hope has cooled slowly.

It is not with a coward that surrenders, but with the weary heart of resistance; for even iron is weary, when the storm of war is endless.

O Mother of People, forgive thy daughter, now unable to defend the earth; Your dream of being free and great, seemed like ashes carried away by war.

But by surrender, there is a secret promise, That the memory will never cease; the land may be in the hands of others, but the spirit of the people is not available to them.

Therefore I let down the sword that is in my hand, not because my stand is broken; but because of the people that I desire to live, there are also fights to wait.

And if open rebuke come, if our children journey again, unto the ground stolen, to the honour that is destroyed from the ashes, the city shall rise again.

Because surrender may end the war, but never is the end of a people.