hugged with great nostalgia
my tambourine
I wet the head of my cuica
with my tears
I told the waiting time
to the orchestra and sung without enthusiasm
all my life in Sapucaí that day
Go and keep the tradition alive
Go ahead my bloco, sadness and courage Vai meu bloco tristeza e pé no chão
With my sorrows I made the banner
I made your falsity the main float
With our mistakes, I made my samba de enredo
With the sound of my old surdo I divided my verses
Go and keep the tradition alive
Go ahead my bloco, sadness and courage Vai meu bloco tristeza e pé no chão
I put mute in the jingles of my pandeiro
I set the last rehearsal to be in the corner of an arbitrary street
I tarnished the green of hope of our flag
I appointed the parade for Wednesday
Go and keep the tradition alive Vai meu bloco tristeza e pé no chão
ἀνάφύλαξις Ancient Greek: ἀνά, romanized: ana, lit. ‘against’,
and the Ancient Greek: φύλαξις, romanized: phylaxis, lit. ‘protection’
I had a feeling that the meeting, through news would be first with you. Only you would have enough willingness to travel from Caetanópolis to here, in order to achieve our exchange. To describe what happened to me is impossible now. That anesthesia that made me smile turned into another kind of rest that made me sleep. I dreamed of all of you and saw me back in childhood. Sang. It was a joy that put me in a fantastic world. Melodies and colors, memories and voices were mixed and I got lost in that unknown ecstasy [ . . .] The friends who followed me spoke of liberation and victory. Very little by little, I became aware and passed, from the euphoria to the weeby of longing because the memory had awakened me to life, in the rear, and our Paul was the center of my memories. I wanted it there in that wonderful approach, because the boats were bordering on a beach charmingly adorned with green in the wild plants that garnished it.
CONNECT/HOOK 