There was a place against God,
Where men loaded their helms with prayers.
Their songs still resonate in the wind,
And the sound of the bell marks the tone of a near past.
The shadow of the cross which is outlined on the dark roofs
crushes each existence with a horrible penance .
Puzinac, heretical paradise, which,
Like a lake invades the minds of a fateful desire.
It is at the heart of this pile of stones
The time has come to live in these lands.
We, poor sinners, attracted by the echo of old quarrels
Which make it this haven of blasphemy,
Let us walk towards this cold destination.
For it is in its nave, that we will see in Puzinac,
Of monks having betrayed their homeland, the sermons and grievances.

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