Quem Vai, Quem Vem
Cátia de França
Who Goes, Who Comes
Out in Trapuá
Road to Nazaré
A little ahead of Tracunhaém
Who goes, who comes
Will look at the kids
Such a strange intersection
Cane stalk with sugarcane
Run and don’t get in the way
Or they’ll make you disappear.
Shacks are falling down
At the door, I see a woman
Empty bag but still standing
On the sidewalks, sleepy
Napping and spitting
Who goes, who comes
It’s the grandpa, the great-grandma
From a distance, they’re like people
It’s flesh, it’s bone
Made from the same clay
I hold on and don’t choke
In the rhythm of the dance
Whether it’s white or black
Up close, it’s yellow
Who goes, who comes.
Feminine rain
In a very masculine backcountry
It flies in the air
The job is to let go
I’m talking about the vulture
In the thickets of this plateau
Where the sun is a rifle
Boom is a blast
If you don’t believe me
You’ll end up taking a fall
In the shallow of the catarina
What I see is our fate
I see the caatinga
White hospital.
