Springtime in the trees, in the fields, in the forest,
But here, in the ghetto, it's autumnal and cold,
But here, in the ghetto, it's cheerless and bleak,
Like the house of a mourner -- in griefSpringtime! Outside, the fields have been planted,
Here, around us, they've sowed only despair,
Here, around us, guarded walls rise,
Watched like a prison, through the darkest night.
Springtime, already! Soon it will be May,
But here, the air's filled with gunpowder and lead.
The hangman has plowed with his bloody sword
One giant graveyard -- the earth.
