Wani is dead.
So are the others.
Fallen to the bullets of his own,
against whom he had raged a war.
Yet hundreds rise every day,
Masked vigilantes of soil,
march to the mosque on Friday.
What is this disease,
That only bullets can cure?

At the barbed wires, soldiers live and die,
these children of men, never leaving a sigh.
The holes in their skulls will never fill,
The story of war will never heal.
The story of war will never heal.

Blood for blood is an eternal chase
these nights of terror, who will erase?
these nights of terror, who will erase?