Cesteiros
Rodrigo Cuevas
Basket Makers
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
