A Porta
Toquinho
The Door
I am made of wood
Wood, dead matter
But there is nothing in the world
More alive than a door
I open slowly
For the little boy to pass
I open very carefully
For the boyfriend to pass
I open very pleased
For the cook to pass
I open suddenly
For the captain to pass
I close the front of the house
Close the front of the barracks
I close everything in the world
I only live open in the sky!
