Barracks Barracks

Barracks, barracks, ; Not the house of God, ; But many blonde, brown, red girls ; There their babies are crying. ; ; Cry, my baby, cry, ; You are no longer mine. ; Until now you were mine, ; You were a blooming milkweed. ; ; The cemetery gate, ; Is wide open, ; There the girls from Csallóköz go, ; They pick the flowers about me. ; ; Pick, pick, ; The flowers about me, ; Only that one white lily, ; Don't pick it off me. ; ; If you pick it off, ; Don't let it wither, ; Plant it on top of my grave, ; Deep in the black earth.