PIANO AND CELLO COLORS (1st Album) by Pilpil Music

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A musical journey through almost forgotten places and times: a lonely cove in Uribe Kosta, a swan gliding down a river around a medieval castle, a Caribbean beach, a hotel in Jerez de la Frontera, a pilgrim on the Camino de Santiago, a dog’s nap under a bench, a far away place, a deserted military camp in Zaragoza.

You can listen to the album for free in this web page or you can buy tracks & sheet scores for 9€, click on: https://payhip.com/b/mJyc3

A tranquil cove facing the west,
On a sunny day with calm sea at its best.
Seagulls in the distance, their cries in the air,
A peaceful haven, a sight so rare.
The gentle waves lap at the shore,
The sand a carpet, so soft and pure.
A place to rest, to let go and be,
To listen to the whispers of the sea.
A graceful swan swims along the river,
Encircling the medieval castle walls,
A forest of trees, their leaves a-quiver,
Their canopies alive with bird calls.
The river, peaceful, flows with ease,
Its currents softly lapping at the shore,
The swan, untroubled, glides with grace and peace,
As the castle stands still for evermore.
On a Caribbean beach, the legend goes,
Of immortal turtles that nobody knows,
Their shells a gleaming hue of green and gold,
In the sun’s warm rays, they bask and behold.
They guard the beach from all that may harm,
Be it storm or man, they sound the alarm,
Their wisdom and age surpasses all,
Their presence on the beach is a great call.
The old wooden hourglass,
Its sand flowing ceaselessly,
Aged grains trickling down,
Counting moments endlessly.
Its worn wood tells a story,
Of time that’s come and gone,
Memories of those before us,
And a world we’ve never known.
A pilgrim walks the path to Santiago,
Grateful for his health restored.
The miles pass by, his heart aglow,
With each step, his soul is poured.
He meets fellow travelers on the way,
From all corners of the world they come.
They share stories of their lives that day,
And in the evenings, break bread as one.
A little dog dozes peacefully
Under the bench in the park
Breathing softly and deeply
As the sun caresses its head
No worries or cares disturb its sleep
Only a blissful contentment remains
As it basks in the warmth and light
Of a gentle summer afternoon
A place where time moves slow and steady,
And the people know each other already,
Where folks sit on porches and share stories,
Of their ancestors and their glories.
A town with a rich and storied past,
Where the legends and lore forever last,
Where the spirit of the West still lingers,
And the history of Texas forever simmers.
In Los Monegros, where the land is dry,
No plants to see, just rocks and sand,
The wind picks up, and starts to fly,
Creating dust devils, oh so grand.
The sun beats down, with fiery force,
On this almost-deserted place,
A barren land, without remorse,
That shows no sign of any grace.

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