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There is a place
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Where men talk like birds
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On the island of Gomera
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You can hear Silbo echoing
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Between two mountains anchored in the clouds
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A Guanche whistles to invite to dine.
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On the menu, a spicy moho that rises to the eyes
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And again a whistle to say...
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« goodbye ».
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To see him trudging, bowlegged, on agile feet,
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You can only distinguish him in the clay by his whistle.
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The Canarian wrestling, to protect his island,
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The Silbo to defy the Civil Guard.
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It's an island paradise
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Where humans also whistle
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The most beautiful song of the most beautiful bird.
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It's Gomeran Silbo.
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The guagua scales the stair-stepped gardens.
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Below the volcano, the Silbo pierces the smoke.
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And here I am, little giant,
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ready to whistle into the wind.
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The two or three words I've retained...
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fly to you,
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GOMERO....
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BONIFACIO!
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It's an island paradise
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Where humans also whistle
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The most beautiful song of the most beautiful bird.
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It's Gomeran Silbo.
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The most beautiful song of the most beautiful bird.
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It's Gomeran Silbo.
