Our teacher spoke to us
They call freedom
I asked him gently
To talk to us in Arabic
Has it got to do with some Greek idea
From some time long ago?
Or with that stuff they import?
Or maybe it was manufactured here?
And the teacher answered us
Sadly with tears in his eyes
They’ve even made you forget
Your history and your values
It’s heartbreaking to see the youth
Who understand nothing about freedom
Who have neither sword nor pen
Or any idea of identity
Chorus: The tyrant would never raise his head as long as the people were fighting back
Then our teacher gave up his soul
In the loneliness of his jail
So I made up my mind that
As long as life was given me
I would roam the world over
To find out what freedom is
I Stood up and faced history
What then is freedom?
Freedom cannot be acquired
In stock exchanges or financial markets
Nor can any humanitarian body
Offer you freedom
Freedom is a plant
That waters a blood pure and free
That raises boys and girls on high
And whoever else is in love with freedom