Magyar Ének [English translation]

Like a whileback, on the borders of Transilvania

the aroused last bison.

That's how you stand my people, so dreaded, so alone,

The wild of your sorrow's trembling lap.

And I, ike your blood's pulsating song,

How it rest's on your feverish lip.

I'm the song, which cries into the night

and sings your faith's mourn like this:

In the everything let there be so much painful cries

as much as many hungarian clot will be taken away from here.

Even if i have to dig with my ten nails,

i'll dig up the dead from the ground.

Let them stare into the sky, around the borders,

their prohibitory arms infinite line.

And in the sky, let there stand with flaming letters

a burning, dedicated, grim word: Never.

Lord, I'll let you know, i don't want to live

Only on hungarian land, and only hungarian.

If sin, that i can't change my soul,

It is better, if my wings fall into dust.

But i leave this soul here forever,

and it's going to squawk in the snowy Carphats.

And i'll cry into every ancient clot,

Go away thiefs, this is my home.

And i'll be shame and i'll be ignomy,

and i'll burn on every forehead.

And like hiding mourn my pretty home

i'll cry back from the Lord.

And i'll blow my trombone of my faith,

Every bier will be Cradle.

From the Snowy Carphats until the Crystal Blue Adriatic Sea

There will be one country here, only one, and hungarian.