I have no house to return to
and no bed in which to sleep;
I have no street, no neighbourhood
to walk in on the first of May.

Along with your first milk
you told me those great and lying words;
But now that the snakes have awakened,
you put on your ancient ornaments,
and, Mother Greece, you never shed a tear
for the children you sell into slavery,
and, Mother Greece, you never shed a tear
for the children you sell into slavery.

Along with your first milk
you told me those great and lying words;
But when I was talking to my destiny
you had put on all your ancient gear,
and you took me to the bazaar like a gypsy
woman does a monkey,
Greece, Greece, mother of grief,
and you took me to the bazaar like a gypsy
woman does a monkey,
Greece, Greece, mother of grief.

Along with your first milk
you told me those great and lying words;
But now that the fire has flamed up again
you just look at your ancient beauties
and, my Mother Greece, you told the same old
lie round the arenas of the world