Translated by A. Z. Foreman - Hunting the Chimera lyrics

Oh my war is lost indeed, My color is a grievous white. If they take away my land They'll smear my grief in their delight. As I see those northern lice Glutted with glory all through France In the great winds of history What can we say, we Occitans? To give protection to our language Of a poor eighty-year-old few... There is nobody who remembers. They rob us of our children too. Banging heads against a door... Lunatics in the hospital... A nice strong rinse, and for a helmet The holy grail upon your skull.... When you're hunting the Chimera Nothing beats electroshock Like the wrong the world has done I spit blood and fire and rock.