Sine Moj [English translation]

Once, you became accustomed that I'm not there

That I go somewhere for a day or two

When I come back home tired from a trip

You say to me 'you haven been here for ages'

My son, my son

Ref.

Bitter is the crust of the bread

That feeds you in the pub

Hard is this life

That I'm living to survive

Bitter is every step

That I cross over the threshold

Your eyes shine in the night

While I'm comming home to you, my son

I sing even when I feel like crying

You're used to it, I'm not like all the others

And when you need me, exactly then I'm not there

But when Saturday going on Sunday arrives

Everyone is with their father, but I'm not there

My son, my son

Ref.

• Artist:Asim Bajrić