In all that you did, these people, wiser than you, much more humane than you, did not oppose you with the weapons you put in their hands, but with a song, a pain, the deepest pain of a human! They did not tell you to go and die as you sent them. They only reminded you of your mother, your own mother, who would hurt for you just the same, no matter how guilty you were!.. On the heights, from the loudspeakers of the units set up for propaganda, and from the guerrilla megaphones meant for "enlightenment", for three whole years, when the "commissioners" and the "A2" finished their ordered words, the others sang the same song:
Some mother sighs, day and night she worries.
Every night the same - painful, true, tearful... And every day, blood again, because of you... A song bothered you, and we loaded our brother onto the mules, cursing him for being stiff and not fitting to be tied with the rope. A song bothered you. But we sang it because we thought of the mother of our brother, who rolled down dead into the ravines. We thought of his mother, and we cried!..