Dah boka kung tigrisoneru
pra podih olah tudu olotu:
arenjah na bodru di mar sa janela,
brabu kung bemfetu,
pra Bukom pra Bara Nubu.
Bengoras bai beng.
Bengoras beng tempu di orasang.
Bengoras beng olu impodih pichah.
Bengoras santah raiba, fundu di samatra sa onti sa razgah.
Arenjah bos sa armada.
Santah soldadu na aria,
merliang na bringku di meza di mundu.
Birah brigador.
Peu fundah na chang ta dartah.
Nali yo naseh na basu di ponti di spinggarda.
Yo kriseh na rentu di korsang ta kumih.
Yo prendeh andada di peli ja kaskah.
Nali yo nenang mureh.
Naki yo nenang bibeh.
Nang asih.
Justu sigih zornikah di maris.
Justu rudiah na futura sa basura.
Justu ngua krensa giliang suzu,
seza muladu ke mulera amostra,
seza diabu ke semesta anyil
di gera.
Kiss the dreamtiger
to see them all:
hung out to dry along the shorelines of the ocean's mirror,
fierce and flamboyant,
through Bukom through to New Harbour.
Sometimes goes and comes.
Sometimes comes the time for prayer.
Sometimes come the eyes that cannot close.
Sometimes someone sits in rage, deepening under the storm of yesterdays torn apart.
Lay out your fleet.
Sit your soldiers in the sand,
merlions on the boarding game of the world.
Return your crusaders.
Sink your feet into the melting earth.
There I was born beneath the bridge of a rifle.
I grew up inside a heart being eaten.
I learned amongst skin being peeled away.
There I have not died.
Here I have yet to live.
But don't let it be so.
All to follow the thrashing of the waves.
All to roam the trash of the earth.
All for a dirty lion child,
either wet or the specimen of the mind,
either the devil or the deep blue universe
of war.