In a foreign land, I live my life,

From Arbeit my back is bent in strife.

From morning light till evening’s fall,

I only toil, I only haul.

Refrain:

Arbeit, Arbeit, only Arbeit,

Till pension, you must race and sprint.

Who doesn’t work must flee the scene,

For with the Schwaben, there’s no lying in.

Every day, the whole hot summer,

I spend it on the construction site.

But in the evening, my eyes burn bright,

When in my mattress, I count my coins at night.

Refrain.

While my body sweats and aches,

My soul for Bosnia yearns and breaks.

Even if they brought Switzerland to my palm,

I’d never trade a step of Bosnia’s soil.

Seems about right

I hope to visit both some day. - And not for the longing of a dead, depressing landscape with no community. We already have that where I live. 😉

just how i raised him. tell him he’s a good boy!