A small dot on the border. The first stroke that gives shape to the Fatherland.
Small dot on the border
The first stroke gives shape to the Fatherland
Every afternoon down the winding golden sandbank
The dragon's tail makes the country fly up
The rolling waves at the border
The wind rustles the poplar sky
We meet again the haunting ca tru song
The sound of the afternoon bell is deep and lonely.
Many traces still remain in the sea
When our fathers braved storms and waves to protect the village
Each handful of soil, blood and bones of people,
Sacred citadel of Sa Vi, Con Mang
The mark of the bronze drum and the lost bird still exists
Hoa Lu Rock stands tall at the headland
Old pottery pieces of prehistoric ancestors
As if there is still a warm fire deep down
Hands welcoming the sunlight at the North Pole
Heart of sand in the middle of the vast ocean
So much love and longing surges with Sa Vi
The place where the Fatherland's frontier burns within us.