Gaivota

If a seagull came
bringing me the sky of Lisbon
in the drawing it would make,
in that sky where the gaze
is a wing that doesn't fly,
it fades and falls into the sea.

What a perfect heart
would beat in my chest,
my love in your hand,
in that hand where
my heart fit perfectly.

If a Portuguese sailor,
from the seven seas a wanderer,
was perhaps the first
to tell me what he invented,
if a new sparkle in my gaze
entwined with my look.

What a perfect heart
would die in my chest,
my love in your hand,
in that hand where perfectly
beat my heart.

What a perfect heart
would beat in my chest,
my love in your hand,
in that hand where
my heart fit perfectly.
(3x)