Patriota Comunista

It's getting late
I think that's what I was thinking
While trying to sleep
To see if at least sleeping, I still dreamed
And sleep didn't want to come
To see if at least sleeping
I could still breathe
I'm running out of air

I think that's what I was thinking
While my dream was trying to arrive
Trying to turn off my head
But on some screen, this movie was playing
It was a blood movie
Or were they the news?
It was a gang movie
Or was it a militia?
It was a period movie
An old soap opera

The terror in the favela, and the saturated hospital
The beaten child, the tortured trans person
I was upset, they were horrible scenes
Transcending levels never tolerated
Never tolerated
Now by humans never more insensitive
Never more insensitive than the Germans
Who treated the Jews like branded cattle
And in Brasa, 80 years later, the plot is the same

Fear and Manichaeism (and hatred is normal)
Prejudice is accepted (and death is banal)
Either you are excommunicated, or you are like cattle
This has always been a corral

A bible, a butt, a ball
A shot of cachaça and a leftover of rice and beans
What more could we want?
A gun for each
A good joke, mocking the face of those who will die

Did my friend from Belo Horizonte
Jump from the fifth-floor window
Feeling this anguish that I feel?
For not seeing anything beautiful
When seeking a horizon and seeing several monsters
Toasting with glasses of red wine
And the most expensive meat on the plate
The cheap meat is that of the blacks
Sharing tears and screenshots of body photos
But in the comments, the text is ready

If they died in the hill and are black and fucked
They must be criminals, so it's okay
If Katlen wasn't a woman and pregnant
They would say she was a drug dealer too
If the family cries, power ignores, and the devil even laughs
Now my sleep is coming and I'm also smiling
Playing with the boy Henry

Chorare is over
In the dream, I compose with Moraes Moreira
But even from up there, he doesn't forget the shame
Here comes Brazil going downhill
And the New Bahians who arrive in heaven
Were executed
For trying to steal a piece of meat
In a supermarket
So the security guards caught them red-handed
First they asked for money
But soon they called the neighborhood traffickers
And sent the chicken thieves to the gravedigger

They arrived in heaven
Hey, Gabriel, you here?
I got worried, did I die?
But it's just a dream
I'll see if I take the opportunity to hug my father

Hard to find, too many people arriving
In a line that never ends
I saw some angels there complaining
Because some countries were refusing the vaccine
I disguised my nationality
I think I'm a patriot
But in heaven, those who put their flags above everything
God gives a smack and calls them idiots

I think I'm a humanist
But humanity is punk
I ask for paper and a pen
Start a letter and find Aldir Blanc
I am enchanted by a tale by Rubem Fonseca
And sing a song by Roupa Nova
While in a corner, Jesus watches me
With a disapproving look

I think I'm a communist
Because I always kicked with my left foot
I found Maradona shouting: Argentina!
I think he's a patriot

Am I a patriot? Am I a communist?
Or just another dead person living in hell?
Just another dream dying in heaven
Another note in the pocket of the suit

Am I a patriot? Am I a communist?
Am I a chief attacked in the hut?
Am I a child asking for food?
Am I a seal applauding an orca?

Am I a scientist begging for alms?
Am I a quilombola becoming a joke?
Am I a life worth less than a dollar?
Am I a sloth watching the burning?

I'm just one of millions of individuals
So divided in death and in life
We are devotees of the holy bandits
Vote fight, seems like a crowd

Shouts of myth and of genocide
Free lunch with shit on the plate
Every truth will be distorted
All power to the overseer

When I die
I don't want tears or candles
I want a yellow ribbon
Engraved with her name

This dream is getting strange
Another friend arriving smiling
Eduardo Galvão, your gaze still shines
Sending a message to his daughter
Dear, life is meant to be well lived
It's not a race to the podium
Friend, she knows, I do too
And that's why I also prioritize love over hate
And whenever I can, I still dream
And try to inspire tolerance
If I could learn from my mistakes
I don't want to bury hope
In times of so many burials
May man still see the aberration of arrogance
And seize this chance to find
A change of direction, attitude, and behavior
But it's hard to find fairer paths
If we are all such sons of bitches

Doing everything to take advantage of everything
Finding the absurd normal
Pretending to be crazy, blind, deaf
Only when it suits us
We are sick
The councilman and the boy's mother
The governor and the killer minister
Who kills innocents in the hill or refuses the vaccine
Where do they come from?

This dream has turned into a nightmare
Looking at people, I even feel ashamed
And I think I'm a good citizen
That's why I expose myself and demand from myself
If I could learn from the voice of poets
I can't accept censorship
If my teachers opened my mind
The cure is in education and culture

This dream is becoming torture
And speaking of culture, look who appears
Bringing irony and courage
Makes me smile and relieves stress
In the dream, he comes with thousands of victims
500 thousand dead or more
I wake up scared and Paulo Gustavo's smile
Fades in pain

I just feel my body cold
And next to the bed, a phrase saying: Here lies
I rub my eyes and see
That I am a slave tied to a trunk
And when the whip breaks my back
I feel powerless, but I look back
Tears wash my face
And I, already aware, rise to dream again
And break the chains when I recognize
My face in the face of my overseer

When I die
I don't want tears or candles
I want a yellow ribbon
Engraved with her name