Naquela Mesa

At that table he always sat
And always told me, how to live better.
At that table he told stories,
That today in memory I keep and know by heart.

At that table he gathered people
And happily told what he did in the morning.
And in his eyes there was so much brightness,
That more than his son, I became his fan.

I didn't know it hurt so much
A table in the corner, a house and a garden.
If I knew how much life hurts,
This painful pain wouldn't hurt like this.

Now there's a table in the living room
And today no one talks about his mandolin.
At that table he's missing
And his longing is hurting in me.