Museu de Cristo

I built the mud house on top of the mountain
Covered with coconut, whoever sees admires
I made a stove and a wood oven
All made of clay in the rustic taste
I made a raft and a fishing basket
All made of palm leaves to catch piranha
I also made a water mill and a sugar mill
A hammock made of woven mat tied with vine.

The divine essence of happiness
Is my hut and my mausoleum
I face the sun with the ozone layer
In the woven straw of my hat
And at night I feel the presence of Christ
Carving stars on the black panel
Swinging in the hammock, I fall asleep looking
At the moon suckling at the breast of the sky.

Here where I live, Mother Nature
Paints living pictures for my eyes
The figures are born from divine pulp
And receive the light from God's placenta
On the infinite canvas of the great universe
I am also a picture in its dawn
The wise painter with an invisible brush
Exhibits his works in his own museum.

I am a tapioca-eating country bumpkin
The backbone of our nation
I am the shield of the sun and the slave of fate
And also the link in the rye of bread
I am a servant who lives watering the flowers
Plowing hope from the bosom of the earth
I was born a country boy, I will die a country boy
And I will never live far from my backlands.