Nas asas do moinho

I'll paint seven colors
on the wings of the windmill,
and I'll call the wind,
and I'll call the wind.

Spin, spin, my windmill,
as the winds blow,
whoever wants to grind songs
grind the pain along with the wheat.
My daily bread
is made of the purest flour,
the crust well seasoned
but the pulp is poetry.

My windmill, you teach me
the secret of the rainbow,
the white color is very simple
but it's the color that is earned.
This peace that I sing about exists,
it's not the end, but the path,
it's in my spinning windmill
that I hear the gentle voice of the breeze.