From the recording Like Never & Like Always
“Kele lao,” traditional, Armenia
Let’s go, my son, let’s go to our homeland. Let’s go to that valley and pick newly-sprouted khavrtsil. We pick and pick and that will save us. There the birds are singing with their beaks; the swallows are clapping with their wings. The stones, without us, are crying. Our father and
mother are buried there. They are crying sweetly and calling for us with pained voices. How can we not go to our homeland? Let’s go, my son, let’s go to our homeland.