Somewhere out there
Somewhere in the valley, where the first morning mists obscure the sun, where roosters can be heard singing, somewhere where bees are buzzing, where the barking of a dog in front of an old house is heard, somewhere my homeland is mine.
Somewhere where the hot bread breaks, where the strong antiquity speaks wise words, where diligent hands hurry to finish their work, somewhere my homeland rushes towards my homeland.
Somewhere in the autumn, at weddings, it is called a watering can, where even a hard-working peasant lives his dreams, somewhere his homeland is called.