O Shai-Hulud, thou Maker of the deep desert, Thy coils churn the sands, eternal and vast, In Arrakis’ heart, where the Spice is harvested, Thy breath is the storm, thy will unsurpassed. Chorus: Hail, Great Worm, born of thirst’s ancient cry, Through quicksand’s embrace, thou risest on high. Fremen sing low, with the Spice in our veins, Shai-Hulud, guide us through sandstorm’s refrains. The dunes are alive with the Maker’s dread roar, Sandstorms weave veils where the lost ones abide. In the sietch’s shadow, we hoard water’s lore, For thirst is our master, and none can it hide. Chorus: Hail, Great Worm, born of thirst’s ancient cry, Through quicksand’s embrace, thou risest on high. Fremen sing low, with the Spice in our veins, Shai-Hulud, guide us through sandstorm’s refrains. The Spice is our vision, our curse, and our flame, It binds us to Arrakis, to dunes without end. Each grain holds a dream of the stars we reclaim, Yet the desert’s cruel thirst is our foe and our friend. O quicksand, thou trapper of unwary feet, Thy hunger is kin to the Maker’s own might. We tread with the rhythm the Fremen repeat, For Shai-Hulud’s path is our beacon of light. Chorus: Hail, Great Worm, born of thirst’s ancient cry, Through quicksand’s embrace, thou risest on high. Fremen sing low, with the Spice in our veins, Shai-Hulud, guide us through sandstorm’s refrains. O Arrakis, harsh mother, thy sands are our home, Thy storms carve our fate, thy Spice shapes our soul. We are Fremen, the free, who in deserts do roam, With Shai-Hulud’s thunder, our spirits made whole. Final Verse: So we sing to the Maker, to thirst, and to sand, To the Spice that ignites both the heart and the mind. On Arrakis we stand, with our stillsuits in hand, Shai-Hulud, eternal, our fate intertwined.
