BosbaPANH: Music

Neak Mê
Over the mountains, Across the rivers
Through the thunder - Neak Mê
The wind brings back our words
Our screams - Neak Mê
At sunset the junk leaves the port
The grand river
Kompong Tonle whimpers
Neak Mê
Now the temple is beyond repair
No roof left, all swallowed by fire.
To meditate too much
On the passing seasons
We store up years
Since this early morning of April
When they arrived
Yelling, singing, aiming
Writing on walls
They shot and they wrote
Words that made us tremble.
Neak Mê
The vines of roses grow from these stains

And on these walls, blood-red petals
Break out every April
The roses climb among the bruises
And turn so red that they pierce us.
Neak Mê
The well is dry and empty - Neak Mê
Rice fields are burnt by the sun
During the parched season of April
Counting the rythm of the seasons
Dozens of years pile up
Since these early hours of April
When they arrived
Their chests covered with roses
Like deaf-mutes
Barefoot, with tense bodies
In their fiery eyes
Begins the strange smile
of the powerful - Neak Mê
One can guess the trails of blood
So violently red on these wall
But these are only roses.
Neak Mê, my love.