High on St. George I climbed
A candle to light
I’ve been looking over the mountain
I felt like crying

Like a mother, Ziria seemed to me
In her arms to hold
That little village
Protectively guard it

Two hills to the right of the village and to the left
Mother’s hands affectionately resembling
That little village
Tenderly embracing them

Command from on high the first sun took
Before the uphill start
The first warm rays of the
In that village to shoot

Full pale pale yellow moon
From his nightly passage to rest
On the top of Ziria in a hurry
He goes to bed

This little village whose mother Ziria has
The sun, the moon and the light are like brothers and sisters
His name if you want to know
KEFALPI (DUSIA) they call it.