Come here my little children, you boys and girls!
I have something great for you to do.
On this sunny springday of 1212
There's a cross for each of you.
Capture the Holy Sepulchre far in Jerusalem,
As the mighty knights failed to do.

'We are the chosen,
The mighty,
The pure,
We will build the new Jerusalem!'

You will cross the mountains, head down to the sea,
The losses of lives won't bother you.
Disappointment in Genova for seventhousand,
The miracle predicted won't come true.
Your God won't allow you to cross the sea,
And even the Lombards won't do.

'We are the chosen,
The mighty,
The pure,
We will build the new Jerusalem!'

You'll recross the Alps despite cold November,
Exhausted, disappointed and grue.
If you reach home, get to your former followers,
Now they will be mocking at you!
Seven ships will leave the port of Marselle,
There's hope for the steadfast and true.

'We are the chosen,
The mighty,
The pure,
We will build the new Jerusalem!'

Two will be wrecked on the shores of Sardinia
Hey, what a game of bugaboo!
The rest will be valueable slaves to Africa,
It's goin' to be a mad ballyhoo!
So come, my little children, now guess my name,
Divide my tripple number swiftly, too!

'We are the chosen,
The mighty,
The pure,
We will build the new Jerusalem!'

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