1. I revive a war, being its water-bearer
In a garden where canals flow

2. Our swords are its roses, narcissi,
Our insults shape its songs

3. Our catapults, lutes and holidays
When their ends are bound tight

4. Our stones elite troops in night clothes
Spun by one who empties their canals

5. Our leader an effeminate, with tender jasmine
We celebrate