For the fortune of destroyed irons of humiliation
For this, that we dont live anymore in eternal shame
For this, that poison has stopped strangle our throats
For this, that cross of weak christ doesnt burn and doesnt prosecute
For this, that biblical sin is ordinary absurd
Im raising horn with drink and my right hand to Sun
Im crushing sacriface provender
Im swearing an oath
Hearing The voice of Gods, the voice of ancestors
Drum and horn are making sound
Miraculous tone from divine Niwa living matter
Im healthy,full of Faith Wened man
With burning heart I will spread fire of Slavonic faith
So on my tired motherland Lechia could rise and revived!
And her folk could wake up from a nightmare
Let thunder will hit me if I will abandon my task
I swear to You my Gods and Forefathers!

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