There is a round forest near Warsaw.

1. There is a round forest near Warsaw, ; In the middle is a funeral cemetery. ; There lie twelve hundred goats, ; Buried by mournful Galicia. ; ; 2. My cloak is a mournful veil, ; The land of my homeland is not beautiful for me. ; The land of Italy has fallen upon me, ; You can cry, you can cry, my poor mother. ; ; 3. My mother, do not look for me, ; There are many dead, she will not find me anyway. ; There is no cross at the head of my grave, ; Like the wild beasts, I am buried.