In the castle's walls from stone
so many dreams became old;
under the arched dome
sorrows and joys found a home.
At the benches of Omonoia square
winters take refuge, you see;
and the nights in Kountouriotou street
dream of anemones in the sea.
Saint Panteleimon,
please guard our city from afar:
the suburbs of Dexameni and Byron,
Sougelo and Prosfygika.
The forest in the Sanatorium
whispers secrets up and down;
and Saint-Silas church in the Spring
dresses in a wedding gown.
A city with no borders,
lost in Homer's gleam;
they call her Neapolis
but I call her a dream.
At Macedonia's feet is she,
the city that takes a rest;
and gazes at the Aegean Sea
the city of Kavala, my lady-mistress.
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