Fogaréu

Look at the fire
Look at the blaze
Burning the ends of my hat's straw

Where's Ritinha, who doesn't see Cecéu?
She's got grass in her mouth, thoughtful, looking at the sky
And softly he took the accordion
Singing lulled me
And softly he took the accordion
Singing lulled me

At Carneirinho's Saint John, my love