Cesteiros

We are poor basket makers
Baskets to compose
Poor us
Who are going to die

Hunger I have, oh my God!
I don't know if it's hunger or maybe a cough
Enters through the mouth and exits through the feet
Because this world was made upside down

When we go to the market
With baskets to sell
We call the women
To come see them

And they are good baskets, they are, they are, they are
Like mine, there are none, none
And they are good baskets, let's look closely
Because like mine, no one makes them anymore

When we go to the town through the Royal Street
The ladies stay seated on a porch
They, very dusty, go out to the balcony
Speaking through their fingers little words of love

And they are good baskets, they are, they are, they are
Like mine, there are none, none
And they are good baskets, let's look closely
Because like mine, no one makes them anymore

Hunger I have, oh my God!
I don't know if it's hunger or maybe a cough
Enters through the mouth and exits through the feet
Because this world was made upside down