They came and drove us off our land,
Talking about their final stand,
From which there was, to God a hand,
That made their dreams the rightful band.
We spent our lives on these warm shores,
Working too hard, with open doors,
The brightest minds all did their chores,
To keep us still in myths and lores.
Now that we left, they crave a road,
Off to the west, in search of gold,
Youth and glory, for they were told,
God sees righteous the one who sowed.
Jamais je n’aurais cru ma mort,
Si on me l’avait contée même,
Mais au fond je sais qu’Allah m’aime,
Et avec moi la patrie Maure.