Lá Na Fronteira

There where the field faces the day, opening the chest
In an old way of pulling the zebu from the ravine
Spurs are tied for a solid foundation
Passing the reins, under the boot heel

There where the most cunning bull has a path
And a pair of saddle is a valuable tool
The wild cow hides the calf in the grass
And the horsemen don't deny, that there is a horse tamer
The wild cow hides the calf in the grass
And the horsemen don't deny, that there is a horse tamer

There where the feathers turn into melodies
In the rural symphony of corncrakes and blackbirds
Old souls roam the sheds in the ranches
For the distances are great and the longings so small

There where a strong 'come, come' still echoes
Calling the herd, at the break of dawn
The wild herd follows the lead mare
On the old road of the line, winding through time
The wild herd follows the lead mare
On the old road of the line, winding through time

There on the border, the tough ones by necessity
Smuggle their longing, one moment this way, another that
Life is earned with hooves and arms in the meadows
One learns early to teach the work to a colt

There on the border, in the vastness of the winter pastures
The cowboy work ends, when the sun extinguishes the embers
Then one returns, trotting slowly, whistling
To have mate with the lady in a garden in front of the house
Then one returns, trotting slowly, whistling
To have mate with the lady in a garden in front of the house