O Pó da Estrada

The dust of the road sticks to my face
Like the distance, killing the words
In my mouth always the same subject
The dust of the road

The dust of the road shines in my eyes
Like the distances change the words
In my mouth always the same thirst
The dust of the road

I met an old vagabond
Who walked around without wanting to stop
When he stopped, he told everyone
That his heart still rolled around the world

And the dust of the road stays on my clothes
The strong smell of the raised dust
Always leading us further
Nothing more urgent
Than the dust of the road
Than the dust of the road

I met an old vagabond
Who walked around without wanting to stop
When he stopped, he told everyone
That his heart still rolled around the world

And the dust of the road stays on my clothes
The strong smell of the raised dust
Always leading us further
Nothing more urgent
Than the dust of the road
Than the dust of the road