My moon, it's evening and where are you
|
Darkness everywhere, my dear alone, you see
|
Flowers, grass, just about everything sleeping tonight
|
Hey cities, where are these roads taking me?
|
Bright star, who is she dreaming about tonight, ask her
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Her hands, whether they are waiting for me or not
|
Tell the soul, agree a little with the heart
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Hey cities, where are these roads taking me?
|
I'll write her debt letters
|
From Zagora, from Drniš
|
Postcards warm from the south
|
From Banat, Bosnia, Nis
|
I'll send her pictures of myself
|
Where to see Istria, Pula
|
At least have something of mine
|
To comfort her, to defend her, to protect her
|
My moon, it's evening and where are you
|
Darkness everywhere, my dear alone, you see
|
Flowers, grass, just about everything sleeping tonight
|
Hey cities, where are these roads taking me?
|
I'll write her debt letters
|
From Zagora, from Drniš
|
Postcards warm from the south
|
From Banat, Bosnia, Nis
|
I'll send her pictures of myself
|
Where to see Istria, Pula
|
At least have something of mine
|
To comfort her, to defend her, to protect her
|
I'll write her debt letters
|
From Zagora, from Drniš
|
Postcards warm from the south
|
From Banat, Bosnia, Nis
|
I'll send her pictures of myself
|
Where to see Istria, Pula
|
At least have something of mine
|
To comfort her, to defend her, to protect her
|
I'll write her debt letters
|
From Zagora, from Drniš
|
Postcards warm from the south
|
From Banat, Bosnia, Nis
|
I'll send her pictures of myself
|
Where to see Istria, Pula
|
At least have something of mine
|
To comfort her, to defend her, to protect her |