Velho Casarão

Old mansion almost in ruins
The big fig tree shading the roof
If it could speak, it would tell the story
Of the one who planted you a century ago
But as I am the grandson of the planter
I tell the beloved mansion's story
On its walls there are bullet holes
From the revolutions that history speaks of
The veranda and the living room served as trenches
For its famous builder, my grandfather

There my grandfather raised twelve children
I am the son of one who waved the flag
My grandfather passed away, and my father remained
Managing the estate all his life
My uncles left for another land
The mansion, which was always a stronghold, remained
In front, my father drank his mate
He held me in his arms, rocking me
With my mother, they both sang
For me to sleep in the shade of the fig tree

Around '32, there was another revolt
Forces arrived and began invading
My father and mother, holding rifles
Old mansion resisting once again
From my cradle, I crawled out
To see and hear the bullets whizzing
The forces retreated, the disaster ended
The big fig tree stifled the smoke
My father showed he had inherited
The fighting spirit of my old grandfather

Beloved mansion with the big fig tree
There I grew up, cheerful and bold
My father taught me to be a good singer
And the first chord of a guitar
Then death came and took my parents
I traveled the world, my fame spreads
When I grow old, old mansion
I'll come back to you to fall to the ground
I want my coffin under the big fig tree
And heaven as alms for my soul