O Viento Rondador

Who can, like the wind, make themselves felt
from here to there, flying all over the land;
from Campodarve to Sieste, blowing, blowing,
so that not a single house is left unvisited.

Head to Ascaso and you'll see a sundial
that says it marks the time of the folks who left
in colorful paint on a wall,
like I wait for the day of the old ones to return.

Let the wandering wind
carry my song
to Sieste, Ascaso, Espierlo, and Aguilar,
to Muriello and Margudgued,
to Campodarve too,
to Seso and Silves to finish it off.

Let the wandering wind...

An eagle's nest empty on a hill
are Silves, Espierlo, and so many other places.
Soon it won't even be possible to live here
if you're not a vulture, a fox, or a kid.

Poor me, even though I was born in Aguilar
I have no feathers on my ass, nor can I fly;
For not being an eagle, cuckoo, or sparrow,
I have no one to protect me.

Let the wandering wind
carry my song
to Sieste, Ascaso, Espierlo, and Aguilar,
to Muriello and Margudgued,
to Campodarve too,
to Seso and Silves to finish it off.

Let the wandering wind...

On the road to Muriello, the ruins can be seen
of what one day was "the Inn of the Louse."
What a good name to stuff yourself today with work
with so much quality tourism around.

If the crowd comes and the river drowns the ball,
I, a "Venetian," would like to be.
Oh, what a saint I would turn into in Margudgued,
all day praying to the saint that makes it rain.

Let the wandering wind
carry my song
to Sieste, Ascaso, Espierlo, and Aguilar,
to Muriello and Margudgued,
to Campodarve too,
to Seso and Silves to finish it off.

Let the wandering wind...