The bird with it’s pained chirp
A bird tops on old oak tree
It was singing its painted chirp
The old oak had no voice to speak
But he heard that bird chirp.
Above the mountains were withered
They didn’t have to bloom anymore
As if the cycle of life has ended
Evil overcome the seasons.
The bird oak was once planted
From hands of a man’s face full of wrinkles.
The bird and the oak
Together saw the end of Kosovo people
The oak had no voice to utter
While the bird cried!
