Tributo a Zé Marcolino

His craft was the art of singing
A master in the lessons of nature
With a waist like a bee was the waist
Of the dark-haired girls on moonlit nights
He sharpened himself on the whetstone
But the stone of death is sharp
Left the beaten clay from the can
Without the marks of the dancer's feet
A cow killed Zé Marcolino
And I wouldn't bet José in a cattle drive

Bira and Fátima can't stop moaning
The saw is sharp and it's on trial
With time, the new well dried up
His owner will never fill it again
Who put Severina to grind
Was ground in the last walk
And the cleaned-up room plastered
Is the face of the Northeastern people
A cow killed Zé Marcolino
And I wouldn't bet José in a cattle drive

He was a partner of Lua and recorded an album
His songs wander around
Sad bird of Cariri
That flew searching for São Francisco
A come-and-go fluttering so skittish
When it found Pernambuco, made a home
Another myth stepped on Serra Talhada
And turned to dust alongside Virgulino's dust
A cow killed Zé Marcolino
And I wouldn't bet José in a cattle drive

It was the cow that caused this cry
Unintentionally made us so nostalgic
A poet is more useful
Than beef, milk, and leather
He was the son of Sumé and was worth gold
A telluric and inspired creature
Wrote a poem for the road
And succumbed on the roads of fate
A cow killed Zé Marcolino
And I wouldn't bet José in a cattle drive