When I loved you in your country,
You said: Now I have a native home,
And it is you.
When you loved me in my country,
I said: I am native to you.
My body is your home.
In us, the sky is clear, and I can see
Both our constellations. But out here
We do not yet have a home. Here
We are not free in body and heart.
Here we are given the fascist choice:
Our life, or your death.
I know my home is love,
And I know I should love all people,
But my first love is our freedom.
For its sake I write, and I say:
We will lie down here as well, native
Together under this high, blue sky,
And my body will always be your home.