The street is empty, the street is bare,Where are the people, where are the Turks?Through Istanbul she walks and strolls,A Helen, from Albania...
Her sweet step makes music,Her body a stem of colors.The Turks hide away in fear,What embroidery nature weaves...
But where are the pashas,Where are all the sultans?You have slain all their soldiers,With your beauty, with your fame...
Empty streets, empty Istanbul,You, a breeze and sun through the clouds...They hide, you will never understand,Down the street walks a queen...
Skanderbeg fought for the lands,In a war against enslavement.Today you are cutting off their heads,With a sword of beauty...
