In Baghdad, my memories were sketched in a shadow of pain. Who is going to play the guitar? Who is going to sing? Where am I? Like a migrating bird, will return home. My voice is worn out from calling out for Iraq.
Oh, Iraq! Once, you were Sumerian or from Uruk, in an era that knew no history. You were Babylonian in a period that knew no love! Ishtar, your soothing eyes are my harbor, my passport to the haven is the window of my prison.
Ishtar, I was killed once by a flood, and a million times by a creature called man. I was killed by a nation, by many nations. You are in America, look over the sky! There is a very tiny star that shines over the village of Tin. Smile for the birds that fly over tin, smile when dreams and secrets remain in that tiny village. Smile, you are an American born in Iraq.