Brambles war arises this year
In a primeval moon of May.
The fern is dressed
And make up done
And empire of moss around.
Infamous tribes burn our cattle
We fled south down to built our castle
Riding sea
Singing an old shanty
Straight up to Armorika!
And I fled to bitter lands of Llydaw,
War douaroù c'hwerv.
And I fled to bitter lands of sorrow
Douaroù c'hwerv!
Over lands, fields and barley
Ferry banks, south valley
My territories, banks and lands
My river, oak and sand.
We will live on, safe and strong
We're not excpecting the world to turn wrong:
We are not citizens of money's Kingdom
Come to live and ride freedom.
And I fled to bitter lands of Llydaw,
War douaroù c'hwerv.
And I fled to bitter lands of sorrow
Douaroù c'hwerv!