Dat strakke 'zjiet.!' , 'zjiet.!'
Mooier geluid bestaat er niet
In kadans naar die kerktoren toe
Een boerenbrug onderdoor
En daarbij fluister ik in je oor:
'Jûn dûnsje wy de Alvestêdewals' (at dat ris wêze koe)

't Wordt opnieuw rond min acht
Luidt de verwachting voor vannacht
Er komt voorlopig geen eind aan de kou
't Is nu nog nét niet vertrouwd
Maar als morgen het ijs wél houdt
Dan dans ik de Elfstedenwals met jou

De maffe koppen, strak gelooid,
ontspannen plots in losser trekken
terwijl zich rond de stuurse trekken
een soortement van glimlach tooit.

In onverstaanbare gesprekken
worden dan praatjes rondgestrooid
die ijdele verwachting wekken.

Totdat de goden, als het dooit,
de hoop der dwaze halzen nekken.
Nee, de Elfstedentocht komt nooit!

Heavily the future leans on the land
The water sucks at the bank
And puts down a tough edge
And I get visibly sadder
This country, where in the past
I plaited my dreams of the future
In the winters one was skating here
O, my Elfstedentocht

Yes, each year it was cold here
The water frozen for weeks
The children looking for dead wood
Gathering fallen ears
And in the dark hours
When Mother allowed it
They were firing their winterheroes
O, my Elfstedentocht

I myself entered once too
Though my style was a bit spasmodic
I arrived safe and sound right enough
And within the first 180
Now I am less untiriable
My skates are sold
And the water, it stays fluid
O, my Elfstedentocht

While I am writing these lines
I see the shadows chasing past me
To challenge the elements
With their will and their naked body
New, evil powers govern now
Created by man's hand
Whatever shall be waiting for us
O, my Elfstedentocht

Translation: Marcel Warnaar

The track is over-full with skaters
Not everyone skates equally fast
There, one goes with broad strokes
And his hands on his back
The track around takes hours for beginners
He is back within two minutes

There, a child puts on his skates
His hand is purple from the cold
He pulls and pulls and crack! O heaven
There he breaks his skating-string
Yes, that is less funny
You perish with cold at the side

There someone skates alone
Far, far away from the crowd
Where he goes, there are no scratches yet
That gives a pioneer-feeling
There are small white pearls
In the ice-sheet, black and cool

How beautiful that dark ice is
Where he, bent, shoots forward
O watch out! Go around that ice-hole
What to do? He doesn't listen
For his family-members
It will cause a lot of worry and sorrow again

A flake falls, it starts to snow
You can't see in the distance anymore
In the twilight one goes home
A lot of them got hungry
Longing he looks out for hutspot
With klapstuk or for the bones in the snert

At home he lifts covers from the pans
And when he'll be sitting at the table
There is no track nor icehole anymore
The snow colors everything corpse-white

Translation: Marcel Warnaar