The Song of the Forty Thieves (from the fairy tale Ali Baba)

[Intro] [Verse 1] Allah, the One who lives in the skies above, Loves all the mountains surrounding us, yet we bear Bleeding wounds. Our chieftain lives like a sultan, In fine robes, rings on every finger, while we carry Bleeding wounds. At dawn we rise, we strike, we know, Give him all we have, but keep for ourselves — Bleeding wounds. By the fire, smoke drifts and a modest meal, We share the bread and water little by little, While our hearts burn in blood. [Verse 2] We see dreams, days without war, From Persia, many lands are in view. But fear grips our shoulders tight, The chieftain watches — death is near, We cannot leave, cannot escape. Who will forgive us? No path remains — Forever barred from entering These ancient temples. No families, no children, No roof of our own, and we carry — Bleeding wounds. [Verse 3] In the evening, the fire flickers dim, Its warmth barely reaching us, but it saves. We prepare a meager meal, All we earned, the chieftain has taken. He laughs, and we stay silent, And again we bear — Bleeding wounds. [Verse 4] Allah, the One who lives in the skies above, Loves honest people in the cities, yet we bear — Bleeding wounds. Each day is a fight for life, Each moment — fear and pain, And we, forty outlaws, Carry our bleeding wounds. [Outro]