Piraretá

Air, taste of the countryside, fill my mind with song,
Sky, close to one, when the night calls the sun

Chorus
They dress their flavor with stone,
Let you forget the heat,
City monotonies, so distant,
so frustrating,
I take new sips from this doorless room,

Torrid waters fall almost as cold as you,
And the white sand breaks the green-blue breach,

Chorus (repeat)