Stones after stones, cobble-stones, fire
Stones in hands are guns, fire
It's the morn of leaves fall and death of the
Fire! Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!
It's a great childish practice the seven-stone-
Lo! Flocks and flocks of ababil birds came
The sky is full of fire like the sparkles of meteors
The cult of saay is the freshness of blood by the soul of flowers
The lance of Jamreh is the echo of something being fired
The waves are endless, without coast or being tired
There's a whale of fire and a Juness remained
Opposite to us there's the smoke of promised moment
Close your eyes unhesitatingly shot!
Once again a pride -provoking instant; on the dot
Once again intifada , war and fire on the spot!