8200 (BG)
Eight thousand two hundred miles of void –
And still to us with you nowhere spend the night
I would be cheerful if it were not you –
If it were not you, my homeland-mother…
I would be cheerful, yeah what now in that;
Just here it's red, where for all – it's blue;
The silver along the wind, a sickle along the heart –
And like Sirin my soul will fly up over you.
The silver along the wind, a sickle along the heart –
And like Sirin my soul will fly up over you.
Eight thousand two hundred miles of void –
And still to us with you nowhere spend the night
I would be cheerful if it were not you –
If it were not you, my homeland-mother…
I would be cheerful, yeah what now in that;
Just here it's red, where for all – it's blue;
The silver along the wind, a sickle along the heart –
And like Sirin my soul will fly up over you.
The silver along the wind, a sickle along the heart –
And like Sirin my soul will fly up over you.