Brave men on peevish horse back
Ancestral spears on their hand
Scream of fathers grew on their hand
The fear of Turks spread out to the four winds
Don't let your blood aged
Don't let your lover know
If she knows don't let her cry
If she cries, let her look to the sky
Roads are closed stars are dimmed
Only one star faces to you
Turk lives no matter what
His soul is big his grave is small