Lyrics

The sadness does not carry the lightness from the Drina,

the water does not bear my burdens,

your mother dreams of you, Nermin, my son,

as if they were drops of red color.

Every July is heavier and heavier,

the seeds of great evil have been scattered,

it slips through fingers, the world is fleeing,

this is a time of a heavy burden.

Son, son, my dear Nermin,

it’s as if I hear your voice from the mountain.

For years, I have not dried my face,

my name, Oh sorrow of Srebrenica.

Son, son, my dear Nermin,

every sigh is from your mother's soul,

now the heavenly birds sing for you,

my name, Oh sorrow of Srebrenica.

We are all yours, mother Saliha,

the moon of each month is shorter,

justice will come, but it is quiet,

and a painful heart returns on the same day.

Martyr's mother, your tears,

will extinguish the fires of that world,

of your loved ones' innocent souls,

like the petals of a white flower.

Son, son, my dear Nermin,

it’s as if I hear your voice from the mountain.

For years, I have not dried my face,

my name, Oh sorrow of Srebrenica.

Son, son, my dear Nermin,

every sigh is from your mother's soul,

now the heavenly birds sing for you,

my name, Oh sorrow of Srebrenica.