It's stick, it's stone, it's the end of the path
|
It's a stump remnant, it's a little lonely
|
It's a shard of glass, it's life, it's the sun
|
It's the night, it's death, it's a bow, it's the hook
|
It's peroba do campo, it's the wood knot
|
Caingá, candeia, is Matita Pereira
|
It's wind wood, falling from the bank
|
It's the deep mystery, whether you like it or not
|
It's the wind blowing, it's the end of the hill
|
It's the beam, it's the span, ridge party
|
It's raining rain, it's riverside conversation
|
From the waters of March, it's the end of the tiredness
|
It's the foot, it's the ground, it's the roadway
|
Bird in hand, sling stone
|
It's a bird in the sky, it's a bird on the ground
|
It's a stream, it's a fountain, it's a piece of bread
|
It's the rock bottom, it's the end of the road
|
On the face the disgust, it's a little lonely
|
It's a caltrop, it's a nail, it's a point, it's a stitch
|
A dripping drip, an account, a tale
|
A fish, it's a gesture, it's a shining silver
|
It's the morning light, it's the brick coming
|
It's the wood, it's the day, it's the end of the sting
|
It's the cane bottle, the shrapnel on the road
|
The project of the house is the body in the bed
|
It's the broken car, it's the mud, it's the mud
|
It's a step, it's a bridge, it's a toad, it's a frog
|
It's a remnant of weed, in the morning light
|
It's the waters of March closing the summer
|
It's the promise of life in your heart
|
It's a snake, it's a stick, it's João, it's José
|
It's a thorn in the hand, it's a cut on the foot
|
It's the waters of March closing the summer
|
It's the promise of life in your heart
|
It's stick, it's stone, it's the end of the path
|
It's a stump remnant, it's a little lonely
|
It's a step, it's a bridge, it's a toad, it's a frog
|
It's a beautiful horizon, it's a tertian fever
|
It's the waters of March closing the summer
|
It's the promise of life in your heart
|
It's stick, it's stone, it's the end of the path
|
A remaining stump, is a little lonely
|
It's a shard of glass, it's life, it's the sun
|
It's the night, it's death, it's a bow, it's the hook
|
It's the waters of March closing the summer
|
It's the promise of life in your heart
|
It's stick, it's stone, it's the end of the path
|
It's a stump remnant, it's a little lonely
|
It's a shard of glass, it's life, it's the sun
|
It's the night, it's death, it's a bow, it's the hook
|
It's peroba do campo, it's the wood knot
|
Caingá, candeia, is Matita Pereira
|
It's wind wood, falling from the bank
|
It's the deep mystery, like it or not
|
It's the wind blowing, it's the end of the hill
|
It's the beam, it's the span, ridge party
|
It's raining rain, it's riverside conversation
|
From the waters of March, it's the end of the tiredness
|
It's the foot, it's the ground, it's the roadway
|
Bird in hand, sling stone
|
It's a bird in the sky, it's a bird on the ground
|
It's a stream, it's a fountain, it's a piece of bread
|
It's the rock bottom, it's the end of the road
|
On the face the disgust, it's a little lonely
|
It's a caltrop, it's a nail, it's a point, it's a stitch
|
A dripping drip, an account, a tale
|
A fish, it's a gesture, it's a shining silver
|
It's the morning light, it's the brick coming
|
It's the wood, it's the day, it's the end of the sting
|
It's the cane bottle, the shrapnel on the road
|
The project of the house is the body in the bed
|
It's the broken car, it's the mud, it's the mud
|
It's a step, it's a bridge, it's a toad, it's a frog
|
It's a remnant of weed, in the morning light
|
It's the waters of March closing the summer
|
It's the promise of life in your heart
|
It's a snake, it's a stick, it's João, it's José
|
It's a thorn in the hand, it's a cut on the foot
|
It's the waters of March closing the summer
|
It's the promise of life in your heart
|
It's stick, it's stone, it's the end of the path
|
It's a stump remnant, it's a little lonely
|
It's a step, it's a bridge, it's a toad, it's a frog
|
It's a beautiful horizon, it's a tertian fever
|
It's the waters of March closing the summer
|
It's the promise of life in your heart
|
It's stick, it's stone, it's the end of the path
|
A remaining stump, is a little lonely
|
It's a shard of glass, it's life, it's the sun
|
It's the night, it's death, it's a bow, it's the hook
|
It's the waters of March closing the summer
|
It's the promise of life in your heart
|
It's stick is stone |