1. Perhaps a strike of a polished sword
Without my sight and a clear stab

2. And plunges in which the hand of the blind man goes astray
And its doctor heals it with medication

3. They raised the flag of beating and turned
To defend the salty Samarra

4. So the souls were patient for the stabbing until
The horses ran between us in the blood

5. It is not one who died and rested with a dead
Rather the dead are the living dead

6. The dead is he who lives humiliated
Evil, worried, of little hope