My father raised me like the wind,
blew quietly, sang while he was telling tales.
He lived, where every road ended
A thousand and one years are not enough for a life, not enough for a life.
I can hear him, his heart in my (guitar) strings.
I can see him, with deeper wrinkles on my face.1
To confess his faith, is a real pride.
Out of a thousand and one songs, that's the one I croon, croon.
Old days, beautiful days
I love his memory.
He calls me and I run to him,
this was the great way to play.
Old songs summon him
I can still feel the light of the sun.
I still hear the buzz of the wind,
I still hear him in the sound of the wind.
He expelled my sadness with a song,
what can I give, just the fact that I belong to him.
And I can tell to my son with pride,
that he was my father and this is my home.
Old days, beautiful days
I love his memory.
He calls me and I run to him,
this was the great way to play.
Old songs summon him
I can still feel the light of the sun.
The wind blew a lullaby to make my dream safe,
the wind blew a lullaby I can still hear it today.
1. This means, that the singer is getting older and older, and he sees his father in his reflection