Era Domingo
Zeca Baleiro
It was Sunday
It was Sunday, it was of the world
My perplexed gaze
In the razor voice; life, crumb
And I want more than that
All beauty in the fortress
Of a sky full of blues
Beautiful music through the window
Sounded like a blues
And I so alone, so without anyone
In the dust of the crowd
In my mouth a sweet, bitter taste
I free, slave of passion
The day was breaking and the Three Marys
(Sad constellation)
At that hour, hostages of dawn
Like my heart
And I so alone, so without anyone
In the dust of the crowd
In my mouth a sweet, bitter taste
I free, slave of passion
And I so alone, so without anyone
In the dust of the crowd
In my mouth a sweet, bitter taste
I free, slave of passion
It was Sunday, it was of the world
My perplexed gaze
In the razor voice; life, crumb
And I want more than that
All beauty in the fortress
Of a sky full of blues
Beautiful music through the window
Sounded like a blues
It was Sunday, it was of the world
It was Sunday, it was of the world
It was Sunday, it was of the world
It was Sunday
