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.
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| 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. |