A Deusa da Minha Rua

The goddess of my street
Has eyes where the moon
Usually gets drunk
In her eyes I suppose
That the sun, in a golden dream
Seeks brightness

My street is dull
But when she passes by it
Her figure that seduces me
The modest little street
Is a festive landscape
Is a cascade of light

In the street a puddle of water
Mirror of my sorrow
Carries the sky
To the ground
Just like the ground of my life
My moved soul
My poor heart

Mirror of my sorrow
My eyes
Are puddles of water
Dreaming of her gaze
She is so rich and I am so poor
I am plebeian
She is noble
It's not worth dreaming