Aquarela Nordestina
Luiz Gonzaga
Northeastern Watercolor
In the immense Northeast, when the sun scorches the land,
Not a green leaf is seen in the lowlands or the mountains.
The dove does not sigh, the tinamou closes its song.
Not a green leaf is seen in the lowlands or the mountains.
The acauã, high up in the ironwood tree, sings loudly,
As if complaining about its lack of luck.
The white-winged, thirsty, approaches the water.
The pond has no water, it's already dried up.
And the sun keeps burning the marsh, the backlands, the cariri and the agreste.
Oh, oh, my God, have mercy on the Northeast.
Oh, oh, oh, oh my God
Oh, oh, oh, oh my God
In the immense Northeast, when the sun scorches the land,
Not a green leaf is seen in the lowlands or the mountains.
The dove does not sigh, the tinamou closes its song.
Not a green leaf is seen in the lowlands or the mountains.
The acauã, high up in the ironwood tree, sings loudly,
As if complaining about its lack of luck.
The white-winged, thirsty, approaches the water.
The pond has no water, it's already dried up.
And the sun keeps burning the marsh, the backlands, the cariri and the agreste.
Oh, oh, my God, have mercy on the Northeast.
Oh, oh, oh, oh my God
Oh, oh, oh, oh my God
