In his land, in solitude
As soon as the bad dreams of the night pass
You reap on your own, and tie your sheaves
You cut off your blonde hair
And today you realize
You will not give your love to anyone else
In your heart, in your dreams, you carry him
You call upon your Hajrudin
And he gazes upon your face in the Sava
He recieve selams from Moscanica
Who lamentingly sings in the morning And longs for Sarajevo
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