I was leaning against my guitar
on the white square, cardboard video
I was an enigma, a question mark
look what a thing, a matter of fact thing, good, good, good, good
I was there by coincidence, it wasn't anything
back woman's ass, construction worker's arms
I was in Madureira, I was in Bahia in Beaubourg,
in Bronx, in Brás and I and I and I asking myself
I am black woman?
It was a message
I read a message
it seemed silly but it was not
I did not decipher, I couldn't
but that went and I, went, and I went, and I went, and I went
I asked myself: it was a hippie gesture
a strange drawing man working, stop, wrong lane
it was a joy, it was a hope
it was dance and dance or not, or not, or not
I was asking: am I back woman?
I was praying there completely
a believer, a lens, it was a vision
totally third sex
totally third world
third millennium, naked flesh, naked, naked, naked, naked
It was so funny, it was a trio elétrico, it was fantasy
samba school on television
cross at the end of the tunnel, dead end and I was the way out, melody, noon, day, day
it's what I said: am I black woman?
But I saw other things: I saw the strong man
and the soft woman in the darkness
I saw what is visible, I saw what I didn't see
and what poetry and prophecy don't see
but see, see, see, see
It's what it looked like
that things talk
surprising things make fatal mistakes
find a solution and that the same sign that I try to read and be
is just a possible and impossible in me,
in a thousand, in a thousand, and the question came: am I black woman?