Khaberni - And a kiss of high glory
And O heritage that does not get lost
Amman, the pulse of longing
The flavor of ancestors in us
And unthinkable is the sprint of spring
That the frost would attack it
Fold the stadium in your hands; I fear for the stadium
Hold it like a newborn child
Be for it an impregnable fortress
Cover it, fold it to your chest
Do not leave it alone
In the splendid darkness of night
We are lost without it and perish
Be for it the warmth of the stars
For life, if devoid of tenderness
Dries up the waters of springs
Neither the cold nor the adversity deter it
What is the value of flowers if
This stadium stands tall
Remaining through time
The focus of all eyes
