O Plano

Oh backlands, from Gonzaga to Jackson of the pandeiro
Oh backlands, Ariano, Patativa, and Lampião

Hot dust, scorching heat of the ground
And the longing that invades my being
Poets and warriors, live there in my backlands
And bring inner peace to my heart

The struggle continues and you don't see
Only believe in what suits you to appear
The flora is dying, the fauna is dwindling
And there are governors who don't care
Hunger is growing, misery increasing

Tell me, poet, what will be the plan?

God save my Northeast
Save it from the drought of abandonment, save it from loneliness
When they say we have poverty, they attribute it to nature
Against this, we say no
For we have abundance from the coast to the backlands
Below and above the ground
Look around
A man who wakes up before dawn and grabs the hoe
Look for a woman with ten children who, when the palm doesn't feed them,
they drink donkey's milk and none goes to thieves
Look around for who sings better than us,
who dances better than us, maracatu, xaxado, and baião
Look in the world for a city with the beauty and brightness of the moonlight of my backlands