Palavra Acesa

If what consumes us was just hunger
I would sing the bread
Like what suggests hunger
For those who eat
Like what suggests speech
For those who are silent
Like what suggests ink
For those who paint
Like what suggests the bed
For those who love

Word when lit
Does not burn in vain
Leaves a beauty placed in its coal
And if it doesn't affect you like a sword
I ask, do not condemn me, oh, my beloved
For the words were for you, beloved
For you, beloved
Oh, for you, beloved

Word when lit
Does not burn in vain
Leaves a beauty placed in its coal
And if it doesn't affect you like a sword
I ask, do not condemn me, oh, my beloved
For the words were for you, beloved
For you, beloved
Oh, for you, beloved
For you, beloved
Oh, for you, beloved