I have the guitar with me. Move aside, walls! I canít see the freedom because of evil fortune. You can cut my throat, you can slash my veins, Only do not tear the silver strings. Iíll bury myself in the ground, soon Iíll perish. Who could defend my youthful age? They crept into my soul, tearing it to pieces, I wish they wouldnít tear the silver strings. But they took the guitar away, and with it my freedom. I resisted and I screamed: "Bastards! Rats!" You can tread me in the dirt, throw me in the water, Only do not tear the silver strings. Whatís the matter, fellows? You think I canít see The sunny days and moonless nights? They stifled my soul, they broke my will, And now they tore the silver strings.
© Nathan Mer. Translation, 1991