Samba Triste
Baden Powell
Sad Samba
Sad samba
That's how we do it:
Me here
You far from me, from me
Someone leaves
Longing comes
And stays close
Longing, remains of love
Of love that didn't work out
Sad samba
That I didn't do before
Just because
I was always happy, happy, happy, happy
Now I know
That every time love exists
There's always a sad samba, my dear
Samba that comes
From you, love
