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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