Calabria Mia

My Calabria
Where the best sons go away
To seek fortune with the pickaxe or the hoe
And you remained within these four walls
My Calabria!

My Calabria
Where even the chimneys are dry
And only the thorns and flowers remain
Our song will end at the sea
My Calabria!

My Calabria
We are sick with love
We are sick
Like these madolins and guitars
Cries this heart with nostalgia
Cry for you, my Calabria
Cries this heart with nostalgia
Cry for you, my Calabria

Oh mother
Mother always prays to the Madonna
That her children return to her land
And she prays, and prays, and the heart cries and sighs
But if there is work, that son will return

My Calabria
We are sick with love
We are sick
Like these madolins and guitars
Cries this heart with nostalgia
Cry for you, my Calabria

Eh, this heart always cries
Always cries with nostalgia
Yes, mother, I am far away but
I write you this letter to
Tell you that I am well, I am fine
And all your fellow countrymen are here
We are always united, mother
It's beautiful here but I am far away
And I miss you, mother
And this heart always cries
And always cries, mother
Always cries with nostalgia

Oh, my mother!

Hey fellow, fellow, fellow

My Calabria!