Si’m valha Dieus (if Providence is favorable to me) I will brandish the Occitan cross
In the night vair (shining) before the enemy armies
Eleanor let me vairejar (be unfaithful)
I will abrandar (burn) the heart of a city far from you

Yesterday I was mercejaire (sighing) kneeling near you
Until a sagèl (sealed letter) took me away from your pale eyes
Do you want to bet on the day of my death?
Already the day rises, the rossinholet (nightingale) sings

And if I lose myself in the vision of the afaitament (blush) of a prostitute
Forget me Eleanor, forget me semprars (on the spot)
I came to achaptar (beg) a little glory on these stretches of land
The aissents (absinth) blueens my veins, and the night takes its bow

A swarm of birds came to aconselhar (hold council) above the capçana (halter) of my
destrièr (battle horse)
My bow in alborn (elder) I banded it in direction of the sun
I killed an ancessí (hashish addict) who was still sleeping
I had to ajostar (to come to the hands) with a beggar who turned into smoke

But what’s the point of alongar (talking about something at length), Eleanor my dear,
If I return and you recognize me; I will apelar d’amor (make a declaration of love)
To my country before I see you again, then I will amolherar (take a wife)
And if you still want me, I’ll take you to our albèrg (house)

But in this hour, I lead a cavalgada (ride) against the fat (fate)
I was fadat (endowed by the fairies) of an unequalled dexterity with the bow
In this land fangós (muddy); without apostòli (the pope)
The sun is a fenhedor (hypocrite)

It did not let me see this arrow which was intended for me
I succumb, dreaming of assag (night of love without sex) and of jaser (night of love with sex)
Lying on the Cathar land, eyes drowned in a sky without God,
The world is only a fire and I close my eyelids.

My cendal (banner) reduced in shreds of vanity
My dompnejar (love for a woman) is all I have left
A menaçat (war song) encircles me like furious waters
I saw a divine lamp (lightning, thunder) fall on my armor

Eleanor, your face came to mazhelar (torment) my death
The day I loved you, we played a game of jòc d’escacs (chess)
It was antan (last year), the moon would slip over our games
Your look was an azimant (magnet) I was the most lechadier (passionate) player of Occitania