Where are you from? Where are your people?
Where is the hearth that would welcome you?
Where have they gone? Why did they leave you?
The land of your birth, am I from there too?
I turn my eyes to the south where the sun walks across the land
I turn my eyes to the north where the stars hold my hand
I turn my eyes to the east where time is buried in the sand
I turn my eyes to the west where the red skies expand.
But nothing do I see of the world of you and me
And there’s nowhere to go, and only the past generations know.
Oh, my uprooted people, oh, homeless ones
Where will you find a season for your daughters and your sons?
