.Wo der Strom endlos weit durch die stillen Felder flieÃt,
wo der rote Jasmin dort vom stillen Huegel grueÃt,
haben wir manchen Abend getraeumt vor der Tuer.
Ja, dort war ich zuhaus einst bei Dir.
Dunja, Du, Dunja, Du und der Strom wird weiterzieh'n.
Immerzu, im.
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