Ils Sont Tombés

They fell without really knowing why
Men, women, and children who just wanted to live
With heavy gestures like free men
Mutilated, massacred with eyes wide open in horror
They fell invoking their God
At the threshold of their church or the step of their door
In herds of desert staggering in cohorts
Struck down by thirst, hunger, iron, fire

No one raised their voice in a euphoric world
While a people languished in their blood
Europe discovered jazz and its music
Trumpet laments drowned out children's cries
They fell discreetly without a sound
By thousands, by millions, without the world moving
Becoming for a moment tiny red flowers
Covered by a sand wind and then forgotten

They fell with eyes full of sun
Like a bird hit by a bullet in flight
To die anywhere and leave no trace
Ignored, forgotten in their final sleep
They fell believing innocently
That their children could continue their childhood
That one day they would tread lands of hope
In countries open to men with outstretched hands
I am of this people who sleep without a burial
Who chose to die without renouncing their faith
Who never bowed their heads to insults
Who survive despite everything and do not complain
They fell to enter the eternal night
Of times at the end of their courage
Death struck them without asking their age
Because they were guilty of being children of Armenia