Patriota Comunista

It's getting late
I guess that's what I was thinking
While trying to sleep
To see if at least while 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 guess that's what I was thinking
While my dream was trying to arrive
Trying to turn my head off
But on some screen, this movie was playing
It was a bloody movie
Or would it be the news?
It was a gang movie
Or would it be a militia?
It was a period film
An old novel

Terror in the favela, and the hospital is saturated
The beaten child was a tortured trans
I was distraught, they were horrible scenes
Transcending levels never tolerated before
Already more tolerated
Now for human beings who are more insensitive
Already more insensitive than the Germans
Who treated the Jews like cattle branded with coals
And in Brasa, 80 years later, the plot is the same

Fear and Manichaeism (and hate is normal)
Prejudice is accepted (and death is commonplace)
Either you are excommunicated, or you are like the oxen
This has always been a corral

A bible, an ass, a ball
A shot of cachaça and some leftover beans and rice
What more could we want?
A weapon for each
A beautiful joke, mocking the face of those who are going to die

Will my friend from Belo Horizonte
Jumped out of the fifth window
Feeling this anguish that I feel?
Because I no longer see anything beautiful
When looking for 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 black people
They share tears and screenshots of photos of the bodies
But in the comments, the text comes ready

If he died in the favela and is black and fucked
Must be a bandit, so it's okay
If Katlen wasn't a woman and pregnant
They were going to say she was a drug dealer too
If the family cries, the authorities ignore it, and the devil even laughs
Now my sleep is coming and I'm also smiling
Playing with little boy Henry

No more crying
In my dream, I compose with Moraes Moreira
But not even from up there does he forget the shame
Here comes Brazil going down the hill
And the Novos Baianos who arrive in heaven
They were executed
For trying to steal a piece of meat
In a supermarket
Then the security guards caught him red-handed
First they asked for money
But soon they called the neighborhood drug dealers
And they ordered the chicken thieves to be handed over to the gravedigger

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

Hard to find, too many people arrive
In a line that never ends
I saw some angels there complaining
Because there were countries refusing the vaccine
I disguised my nationality
I think I'm a patriot
But in heaven, whoever puts their flags above all
God slaps you and calls you an idiot

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

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

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

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

I'm a scientist asking for alms
I'm a quilombola becoming a joke
I am a life that is not even worth a dollar
I'm a sloth watching the burning

I'm just one of millions of individuals
So divided in death and life
We are devotees of the bandit saints
Fight for votes, it looks like a crowd

Cries of myth and genocide
Free lunch with shit on the plate
All truth will be distorted
All power to the captain of the bush

When I die
I don't want tears, nor candles
I want a yellow ribbon
Engraved with her name

This dream is getting weird
Another friend arriving smiling
Eduardo Galvão, your eyes still shine
Sending a message to his daughter
Darling, life is meant to be lived well
It's not a race for the podium
Dude, she knows, so do I
And that's why I also put love before hate
And whenever I can, I still dream
And I try to inspire tolerance
If I could learn from my mistakes
I don't want to bury hope
In times of so many burials
Man still sees the aberration of arrogance
And grab this chance to find
A change of direction, attitude and conduct
But it is difficult to find fairer paths
If we're all such sons of bitches

Doing everything to take advantage of everything
Finding the absurd normal
Playing the fool, the blind, the deaf
Only when it suits us
We are sick
The councilman and the boy's mother
The Governor and the Murderous Minister
Who kills innocent people in the favela or dispenses the vaccine?
Where do they come from?

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

This dream is already torture
And speaking of culture, look who shows up
Bringing irony and courage
It makes me smile and relieves stress
In the dream, he comes with thousands of victims
500,000 dead or more
I wake up scared and Paulo Gustavo smiles
In pain it dissolves

I just feel my body cold
And on the side of the bed, a phrase saying: Here lies
I rub my eyes and see
That I am a slave tied to a log
And when the whip cracks my back
I feel helpless, but I look back
The tear washes my face
And I, already conscious, get up to dream again
And I break the chains when I recognize
My face in my foreman's face

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