Asim Bajramović
There, beside the Villa of Zavidovichi,
Cheero stands, where bygone Cheero’s
whistle echoed through the valleys,
tirelessly he pulled his heavy freight,
from Kusache, across the forest hillsides,
for the good of all Zavidovichi.
Old Cheero, sound your whistle one more time,
let the green Krivaya hear your call,
bring back happiness and wake the days
of bygone times—those beautiful old days.
Let sweet longing rise within our hearts,
beside the Villa, in the City of Wood.
Steam is roaring and the wheels are pounding,
a weary worker reaches out his hand,
forests breathe, the logs remember pathways,
Zavidovichi remembers you
and keeps you safely in its heart.
Cheero’s whistle echoed through the valleys,
tirelessly he pulled his heavy freight,
from Kusache, across the forest hillsides,
for the good of all Zavidovichi.
Old Cheero, sound your whistle one more time,
let the green Krivaya hear your call,
bring back happiness and wake the days
of bygone times—those beautiful old days.
Let sweet longing rise within our hearts,
beside the Villa, in the City of Wood.
Today, Cheero slumbers by the Villa,
a monument to times that passed away,
and beside him, the Villa seems to listen,
waiting for his whistle once again.
When you stand in thought before the Villa,
it feels as though through time you gently sail.
Cheero is silent—but his name still tells us:
Zavidovichi longs for its great timber works.
Old Cheero, sound your whistle one more time,
let the green Krivaya hear your call,
bring back happiness and wake the days
of bygone times—those beautiful old days.
Let sweet longing rise within our hearts,
beside the Villa, in the City of Wood.
There, beside the Villa of Zavidovichi, Cheero stands, where bygone Cheero’s whistle echoed through the valleys, tirelessly he pulled his heavy freight, from Kusache, across the forest hillsides, for the good of all Zavidovichi. Old Cheero, sound your whistle one more time, let the green Krivaya hear your call, bring back happiness and wake the days of bygone times—those beautiful old days. Let sweet longing rise within our hearts, beside the Villa, in the City of Wood. Steam is roaring and the wheels are pounding, a weary worker reaches out his hand, forests breathe, the logs remember pathways, Zavidovichi remembers you and keeps you safely in its heart. Cheero’s whistle echoed through the valleys, tirelessly he pulled his heavy freight, from Kusache, across the forest hillsides, for the good of all Zavidovichi. Old Cheero, sound your whistle one more time, let the green Krivaya hear your call, bring back happiness and wake the days of bygone times—those beautiful old days. Let sweet longing rise within our hearts, beside the Villa, in the City of Wood. Today, Cheero slumbers by the Villa, a monument to times that passed away, and beside him, the Villa seems to listen, waiting for his whistle once again. When you stand in thought before the Villa, it feels as though through time you gently sail. Cheero is silent—but his name still tells us: Zavidovichi longs for its great timber works. Old Cheero, sound your whistle one more time, let the green Krivaya hear your call, bring back happiness and wake the days of bygone times—those beautiful old days. Let sweet longing rise within our hearts, beside the Villa, in the City of Wood.