1. Let me grieve, oh mother of misery, let me grieve
For truth will lead the camel astray

2. And I have slaughtered an oblation to drink sincerity
Heeding not the tide of events

3. As though her brow were a water bag
Scant of plumage, killed often over

4. By Allah, my Lord, I care not
To whom the clan or the graves belong

5. If musk is dearer to the girls
Than the scent of ambergris