O Que Será (a Flor da Pele) (feat. Chico Buarque)

What will it be that I feel?
That stirs me inside
What will it be that I feel?
That sprouts on the surface
What will it be that I feel?

And that rises to my cheeks and makes me blush
And that jumps to my eyes, betraying me
And that tightens my chest and makes me confess

What can no longer be disguised
And that no one has the right to refuse
And that makes me a beggar
Makes me plead

What has no measure, and never will
What has no remedy, and never will
What has no recipe

What will it be?
That is inside us
And that shouldn't
That disrespects us against our will
That is like a burning water that doesn't satisfy
That is like being sick from a revelry
That not even ten commandments will reconcile
Nor all ointments will relieve
Nor all sorrows, all alchemy
And not all saints

What will it be?
What has no rest, and never will
What has no fatigue, and never will
What has no limit

What will it be that I feel?
That burns me inside, will it be that I feel?
That disturbs my sleep, will it be that I feel?
That all tremors come to stir up
That all ardors come to provoke me
That all sweats come to soak me

That all my nerves are pleading
That all my organs are clamoring
That a dreadful affliction makes me implore
What has no shame, and never will
What has no government, and never will
What has no sense