Brothers and sisters we are, we are not Greeks or Turks,
let's just call ourselves Cypriots, no other labeling,
no more atrocities, erase the pain and live in peace
just like then when o Krokos drank coffe with Mourat in
Theoulos' coffee house.
They were smart enough to know that they shouldn't even
look at the hate trees that had been planted by those
who wished to eat their fruit one day. The big shots,
the politicians, and the money-makers.
The companies buying the land in Varosi and Yialousa so
their souls can be encrusted in bloody gold when they
descend in the unknown. And beautiful Eftakomi and
Yiouti and Krokos and Mourat untouched by all and alive