No Rastro da Gadaria

It's been three days since I've been herding this troop
That's dwindling, almost reaching its destination
Tiring out horses on the trail of the herd
In the few joys of a peasant

Just a few more days and the cattle drive ends
Scant is the money for those who roam the early mornings
Pushing cattle at the horse meetings
In the distance, the roosters herald the dawn

Occasionally a shout calling the front
And a bull Indian opens his chest and charges
A bay dog rebels and bites
The bull kicks and, circling, gets entangled

The cattle jostle sniffing a downpour
That's brewing over there towards the east
Ponchos open at the back and at the front
And the wind challenges, rippling the grass

Thunder rumbles in the distance and lightning strikes the ground
And the water sleeve already whitens the corridor
Soaking the poncho and the soul of the one who stumbles
If the weather turns ugly towards the rainmaker

I can't wait to finish this journey
And return to the ranch I built in my place
I can already picture my beauty at the window
I dreamed of her and for her I will return