Quadras Soltas
Alfredo Marceneiro
Loose Quadrants
By the mill, I’m singing
The washerwomen are doing laundry
The ducks are playing in the water
Pigeons coo on the threshing floors
The springs of my hometown
Murmur, moan in harmony
The waters that keep flowing
Carry away my tears
Sometimes I gaze at the mill
That, old as it is, still stands
Built on the little homestead
That belonged to my grandfather
The light that shines on the hill
How sad it looks from here
It's the humble, poor light
Of the home where I was born
Don’t you want to go to the city?
Just stay here, you’re doing fine
You don’t care for the estate
Where your mother passed away
The mill, now falling apart
Ruined by the hands of time
You represent the pain
Of this aching heart of mine
