The wind is soft and blowing fast,
making me remember of our glorious Past.
Troubles are increasing day by day,
taking away peace and making it hay.
One question arises in our mind
where is the happiness, that the peasants cannot find.
The notes are waving high in the sky,
covering the tricolour of the flag that used to fly.
Corruption has replaced souls of great,
In the eye of contributions, where freedom was straight.
Our motherland's eyes are filling up with tears; making it bright,
and waiting for the wind from past to make situations right.
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