"Oh, the greatest of torments Embrace towards the dawn The flower of death to bloom! Oh, the greatest of torments To sow the flower in the grave Bloom from your own womb Oh, the greatest of torments To reproduce the moans To add one more moan One, the special one What tugs the mother spirit By the harshest of torments Oh, the greatest of punishments To feed the old hunger for life By giving them our blood To a huge pile of death Fuming with eternal heat Throw more wood! Oh, these hours will come, When the mother's pain rises, It will face the guilt of life Like earth replete with births And will ask in a reckoning voice: Where's your fruit? Where's your child? Oh, this hour will come, What starts to beat in the twilights, Into rust-coloured bronze of centuries When these wombs close Like barren land Which give birth to their cross today."