Asim Bajramović
Tears kept falling, countless in their flow,
instead of Bosnia, song became my soul.
Music comforts me when times are at their worst,
for a soul without Bosnia cannot truly live.
And Bosnia, they say, resembles a song,
like the fragrance of flowers in early spring.
Bosnia is sung about, because of her friendships grow,
because of her we cry, because of her we grieve.
Through song, the soul seems to forget
that once we parted without a word.
Unhappy, sorrowful, and alone in my pain,
while my soul weeps, I find comfort in music.
And Bosnia, they say, resembles a song,
like the fragrance of flowers in early spring.
Bosnia is sung about, because of her friendships grow,
because of her we cry, because of her we grieve.
When long nights bring back memories,
my heart whispers its secrets to Bosnia.
Far away from her, I stand in a foreign land,
yet I carry Bosnia within my heart through song.
And Bosnia, they say, resembles a song,
like the fragrance of flowers in early spring.
Bosnia is sung about, because of her friendships grow,
because of her we cry, because of her we grieve.
Tears kept falling, countless in their flow, instead of Bosnia, song became my soul. Music comforts me when times are at their worst, for a soul without Bosnia cannot truly live. And Bosnia, they say, resembles a song, like the fragrance of flowers in early spring. Bosnia is sung about, because of her friendships grow, because of her we cry, because of her we grieve. Through song, the soul seems to forget that once we parted without a word. Unhappy, sorrowful, and alone in my pain, while my soul weeps, I find comfort in music. And Bosnia, they say, resembles a song, like the fragrance of flowers in early spring. Bosnia is sung about, because of her friendships grow, because of her we cry, because of her we grieve. When long nights bring back memories, my heart whispers its secrets to Bosnia. Far away from her, I stand in a foreign land, yet I carry Bosnia within my heart through song. And Bosnia, they say, resembles a song, like the fragrance of flowers in early spring. Bosnia is sung about, because of her friendships grow, because of her we cry, because of her we grieve.