Milico 'e pueblo

The whistle of the cop puts the town in order. People retreat to their homes. Through the empty streets, the cop does his rounds. In a corner of the counter, discreetly, he takes a drink. He gulps it down. Then he continues. The nights feel like centuries. He lights a cigarette and gets distracted... 'whatever.
In the town, nothing ever happens. It's just that sometimes he remembers his past life. He came from the countryside because he has school-aged kids, and there he goes, in uniform and tired. But inside, he's whole, the man within him shines without badges. They can't boss him around. Cheers, brother!
The cop with his whistle
lights up the lanterns,
night, night.
The bar stays awake
aging in alcohol,
rhum, rhum.
You wander off to the back,
a lone drinker,
cop, cop.
The uniform that hurts you,
you, who are just like everyone else,
man, man.
Everyone is the same to you
when you have to act,
brother, brother.
During the rounds
there's so much to think about,
alone, alone.
Rising in the night
dogs, roosters, and dew,
dawn, dawn.
No one can control
what you have inside,
cop, cop.
Lairarai, lararaira...
No one can control you!