Waters of March
It's stick, a stone, is the end of the road
It is a remnant stump, is a little alone
It is a shard of glass, is life, is the sun
It is the night, is death, is the bond, is the hook
It is mahogany field, is the knot of the wood
Caingá, candle, is the Matita Pereira
It is wood wind, fall of the bank
It is the profound mystery, it's like it or not
It is the wind blowing, it's the end of the slope
Is the beam is going, feast of cumueira
It's raining rain, the stream is talking
Waters of March is the end of fatigue
It is the foot, is the ground, the march is estradeira
Bird in hand, slingshot stone
It's a bird in the sky, is a bird on the ground
It is a stream, is a source, is a piece of bread
It is the bottom, is the end of the road
Disgust on his face is a little alone
It is a crowfoot is a nail, is one end is a point
It is a drop dripping, is an account, is a tale
It is a fish, is a gesture, is a shining silver
It is the morning light, is the brick arriving
It is the wood, is the day, is the final straw
It's bottle of cane, shattering the road...
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