O Que Será (À Flor da Pele)

What is it that I feel
That stirs me inside, what is it that I feel
That blooms right on the surface, what is it that I feel
And that rises to my cheeks and makes me blush
And that jumps to my eyes, betraying me
And that tightens my chest and makes me confess
What I can no longer hide
And that no one has the right to refuse
And that makes me a beggar, makes me plead
What has no measure, and never will
What has no remedy, and never will
What has no recipe.
What could it be
That stirs within us and shouldn’t be
That disobeys us, that’s rebellious
That’s like a liquor that never satisfies
That’s like being sick from a wild party
That not even ten commandments can reconcile
Not all the ointments can ease
Not all the remedies, all the alchemy
Not even all the saints, what could it be
That has no rest, and never will
That has no fatigue, and never will
That has no limits.
What is it that I feel
That burns me inside, what is it that I feel
That disturbs my sleep, what is it that I feel
That all the tremors come to shake me
That all the passions come to ignite me
That all the sweats come to soak me
That all my nerves are begging
That all my organs are crying out
And a dreadful anguish makes me implore
What has no shame, and never will
What has no control, and never will
What has no sense.