O Mother, hang up the day of the birth
At another time,
Let your eyes do not see the Creation of God
How they oppress us.

Let there be born the Son of dearest
Among the other stars,
But not here, not in the saddest
Of all the cities.

Because in our town who remember
From the distant days,
Crosses arisen, crosses and cemetery,
Fresh from the blood.

Because our children under shrapnel
Shots were breathless.
O holy Mary, pray for us.
But do not come here.

And if you want to be born in the shade
war ruins,
It's better just after birth
Throw Him to the Cross.