O Poeta Cantador

As long as I have life
And as long as life wants me
On top of the earth
And under the sky

Fitting a mountain range on paper
Singing what I pull from inspiration
Filling my belly
With chords and songs
Locking the words

In the corrals of rhyme
Making them slaves
So free and so fine
Harvesting my verses
With poet's hands
Running in the straight line
Of a good singer

I will sing my song
In the corner that echoes
I will be the charm of imagination
I will have in the baiões, in the songs and praises
The sounds and the prow of my song
From the king of baião I will sing the teaching

Of a certain Virgulino
I will be the lamp
Shaping in the clay of a certain Vitalino
I will sing the anthem and the voice of the backlands

I will be committed to the beautiful songs
For my Padim Ciço gives me protection
I will be the advice
Of a good counselor
I will be the messenger of Frei Damião
I will have my Northeast planted in my chest
Watered with the essence of pure emotion
I will be like the pain
Of a country brother
Who earns the leftovers
Of a piece of bread

I will be the longing
Of a departing son
I will be the aside
In the fight between brothers
I will be the song of the brightness of art
The corn cob of your Saint John
I will be the meeting of night with day
The sky of lovers, the Moon of love
The song that once was made poetry
In the incessant voice of a singer

As long as I have