1. Like a sword when sheathed in its scabbard,
And though I shake off the fever, it still clings to me,

2. And if the tale of what I did in Khaybar spreads,
I will still be in distress because of it.

3. Why make excuses? I have no family with me,
No companion, no cup, no home.

4. Gratitude is my habit though ingratitude is not for me,
It makes no difference, in hardship I find myself, or sadness.