O Poeta Cantador

As long as I have life
And while life wants me

Above the earth and beneath the sky
Making a saw fit on paper

Singing what I draw from inspiration
Filling my belly with chords and songs

Locking the words, in the pens of rhyme
Making them slaves, so free, so fine

Collecting my verses, with the hands of a poet
Running in the straight, of a good singer

I will sing my song, in the song that sings
I will be the charm of imagination

I will have in the baiões of songs and praises
The sounds and the bow of my song

I will sing the teaching of the king of baião
From a vain Virgulino, I will be a lamp

Molded in the clay of a Vitalinian king
I will sing the anthem and the voice of the backlands

I will be committed to beautiful songs
Because my father Ciço protects me

I will be the advice of a good advisor
I will be Friar Damião's messenger

I will have my northeast planted in my chest
Watered with pure emotion

I will be like the pain of a country brother
Who gets the leftovers from a bread stick?

I will be the longing of a departing son
I will be the one to the side, in the fight between brothers

I will be the song of the brilliance of art
Your St. John's corn cob

I will be the meeting of night with day
The sky of lovers, the moon of love

The song that once became poetry
In the incessant voice of a singer

As long as I have life!