Momcilo Nastasijevic - The Trumpet

What's the use of a blue sky, 
and the hyacinth and the girl and the flight of the swallow.
Somewhere the trumpet starts to sing.

Behind mountains and waters,
cries a sorrowful countrywoman.

We're a family.
When a man dies,

My heart is sorrowful too.

Rip the hyacinth off your chest,

lay your head low;

they want to bury the soldier,

but he so badly wanted to live .

What's the use of a priest praying,

of the cross, of the name

the soldier won't come back to the village,

he won't kiss the girl he loves.

Rip the hyacinth off your chest,

lay your head low.

Somewhere the trumpet starts to sing.