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