Hear the words of my tale, oh children of old,

The story of how eleven swans became again sons of gold.

It starts far away, 

in a country were magic has fair play.

A King, a Queen 

and many children to thee.

A daughter as lilies so pure,

her brothers who will endure.

It starts with an evil witch,

who the King found in a ditch.

Mother she became to the children of his, she became.

Fond of them she was not, their ruination was her aim.

It began with eleven princes, 

who became swans in solitude long since.

Their sister, Elisa her name

send away to the farms in shame.

It began when the sister found her brothers once more.

Together they traveled over the sea to a new country, from shore.

Alone they thought they were, demean,

yet seen by no one else than the Fairy Queen.

She said:

Hear the words of my tale, oh children of old,

Elisa do be bold.

For I have come to tell you my tale,

collect the nettles on the graveyards and knit without fail.

For your brothers can be saved by you,

knit for them eleven shirts of nettles on cue.

One for every prince, for them to change back

and the curse will crack

Elisa knit and knit,

her fingers bleeding and slit.

Till one day,

see the king has come by to see you by the bay.

Sees you knitting, knitting, knitting.

Without even considering quitting.

Far away he takes you away,

to castles and his enormous chalet.

Marry him you will,

yet speak no word, for your brothers' blood will spill.

Your nettles are gone,

what will you do my child, without alerting his pawn.

Already you have been followed,

the archbishop has seen, and told the King who wallowed.

No why? You're lying

my wife would never, he screamed while crying.

Yet he's there waiting for you to see.

And seeing he does, the witches three.

Jail waits for you in its cold cruelty, you knit

you knit and knit and knit.

Yet finish you never will,

in the cold winter chill.

Burn you will