Às margens da Babilônia

By the banks of Babylon
We sat and cried, pierced and wounded

Who can’t see our old ones dishonored, so tired, faded from memory?
Beautiful girls, our mothers, all shorn, anxious?

Who will protect?
Whose tomorrow will it be?
Our little ones cry: There’s no bread, no smile to feed their poor childhood

By the banks of Babylon
We sat and cried
There’s no song of joy

We were born outsiders, we’ve always lived as slaves and it’s true: We’ll die as foreigners!

Unless it’s true: The help so often spoken of by the elders
The promise so longed for among the girls
The story that fills our children with hope

By the banks of Babylon
We sat and cried
Whoever sinned was taken into captivity to cry
To die
Unless