| The day is born in the city, which enchants me
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| In my old Lisbon, from another life
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| And with a knot of longing, in the throat
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| I hear a fado that sings, at the farewell
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| And with a knot of longing, in the throat
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| I hear a fado that sings, at the farewell
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| It was in the taverns of Alfama, in a sad time
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| That this song was born, your lament
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| In the memory of those who go, like the wind
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| The look of who loves and doesn't give up
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| In the memory of those who go, like the wind
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| The look of who loves and doesn't give up
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| When the old flame shines, or feeling
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| I hear this sea that resounds, as it sings
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| From Bica to Madragoa, in a moment
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| This anxiety always comes back, from the departure
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| The day is born in the city, which enchants me
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| In my old Lisbon, from another life
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| Who lives only in the past, for no reason
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| Gets stuck to a destination, which invades
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| But in the soul of this fado, I always live
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| A crystalline, ageless corner grows
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| But in the soul of this fado, I always live
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| A crystalline, ageless corner grows
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| That's why I imagine, in freedom
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| A seagull that flies, reborn
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| And nothing hurts me anymore, or disenchants me
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| On the streets of this city, dawn
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| But with a knot of longing, in the throat
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| I hear a fado that sings, at the farewell |