Milonga Abaixo de Mau Tempo

Strange thing, the whole herd
Suffering the pain of the lame with its snout in the water
The flooded field forces us to pray
In the duty of those who carry the weight of sorrows

Sad look of the cattle crossing the river
The drool of the tired drowning the return
The morning of someone shouting in the thicket
And the call of those herding, rounding up the cattle

Grab the rope, my friend, while the bull's still alive
The flood's raging, messing up the pasture
As it sweeps across the plains of a thousand reals

And the food we eat, echoing the time
Separates in the roundup the local loneliness
Barely peeling off what reason wants

Darling, I miss you
Tell me the mare's pregnant, that the pig's fat
That the bay's running loose, that every little thing at home has been eaten

Darling, I miss you
Tell me the mare's pregnant, that the pig's fat
That the bay's running loose, that every little thing at home has been eaten

What a stroke of bad luck, this dreadful plague
Healing the sickest, it brought fever to the cattle
If it weren't for the downpour acting up
It would bring a thousand heads with the blessing of the land

I missed the little saint, cleaning the hooves
And the rosary of intent in the simple prayers
Soon it’ll be Holy Week
I’ll go blind to the riverbank and only then will I see her

Grab the rope, my friend, while the bull's still alive
The flood's raging, messing up the pasture
As it sweeps across the plains of a thousand reals

And the food we eat, echoing the time
Separates in the roundup the local loneliness
Barely peeling off what reason wants

Darling, I miss you
Tell me the mare's pregnant, that the pig's fat
That the bay's running loose, that every little thing at home has been eaten

Darling, I miss you
Tell me the mare's pregnant, that the pig's fat
That the bay's running loose, that every little thing at home has been eaten