Deep roots of pain sorrow and anger
On their own lands they were the stranger
From the men of Illyria
To the fathers of hysteria
The land of the fallen duke
A puppet nation born to rebuke
Dying serving the legionary
Pontiffs declare it unordinary
Fortress of the great divide
Hopeless to decide which side
Between a mountain and the beach sand
Lie the ghosts of Agram
From the sultans of Constantinople
Kings of Vienna to the Pope in Rome
Men proudly driving an Opel
Volkswagen which they call their own
The battle ground of fascism
The pulpit for communism
The land of never resting guns
Of never returning sons
Dominion of Yahweh and Allah
Fighting in a bloody shower
Between a mountain and the beach sand
Lie the ghosts of Agram
The citadel of these ghosts
Cathedrals ready to roast
Mongols on the raiding side
Oh won’t the sun ever rise!
Poor boys on an alleyway
Ready to be carried away
Sultan, raise your voice
Against the pope of your choice
And never let these ghosts rest
Just put them to the test
Morning stars and glory shine
Let’s get drunk on this wine
Between a mountain and the beach sand
Lie the ghosts of Agram
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