Cire mi te bire, me betâru kråj
Tota zija bora, tota nopte ploja,
Turnå ci se vresu, durmi nu m-je volja.
Tu mije falešti, me betâru kråj,
Ân somnu te vedu-ku tire som ân råj.
Pre skånd ântru uše tamburitza zåče,
Su kodru åto nu bivesku mę måje ni čåče.
Kân zekljidu oklji, jo me cije tornu,
Ši ke nu me vuci, jo voj rugå Domnu.
Męre voj ân te kodru neziręj lu stęle,
Neka me se domislesku ši Učka ši våle.
Portu te ân jirima ši pre męle spåte,
Tot čå če åm, ku męle mâr-jo tot ręš då za te.
A fråte me nu vire-otpravit l-aj ‘pre svit'.
Je nu se va turnå, ke tirar a murit.
Cire mi te bire, me betâru kråj,
Veri voj åta vęra rožicele pobiręj.
Stay well, my old country
All day the wind, all night the rain,
I want to return to you, I cannot sleep.
I miss you, my old country,
I see you in my dreams-with you I'm in heaven.
There is a tamburitza on the table in front of the house,
My mother and my father no longer live under the mountain.
When I close my eyes, I return to you,
I'll pray to God that you do not forget me.
I'll go to the mountain to look at the stars,
To be remembered by Učka and the valleys.
I carry you in my heart and on my shoulders,
Everything I have, with my own hands-I'd sacrifice for you.
My brother is not coming-you accompanied him away.
He will not return, he died young.
Stay well, my old country,
I'll come another summer to pick flowers.
