A stick, a stone,
its the end of the road,
It’s what’s left of a stump,
It’s a little alone
It’s a sliver of glass,
It is life, it’s the sun,
It is night, it is death,
It’s a snare, it’s a gun
It’s the blossoming field,
It’s the candlelight’s blush,
It’s the knot in the wood,
it’s the song of the thrush
It’s the wood of the wind,
It’s the cliff and the fall,
It is Mystery’s depths,
It is nothing at all
It’s the wind blowing free,
It’s the crest of the slope,
It’s a beam, it’s a bay,
it’s the thrill at the top.
It’s the rain raining down,
it’s a wild flood of talk,
as March waters dissolve
all the cares of the heart.
The foot, the ground,
it’s the heavy walk home,
it’s the bird in the hand,
it’s the slingshot’s fresh stone.
It’s a bird in the sky,
It’s a bird in the wood,
It’s a stream, it’s a spring,
it’s a morsel of food.
It’s the base of a well,
it’s the end of the line,
the dismay on a face,
it’s a loss, it’s a find.
It’s a spear, it’s a spike
it’s a tale, it’s a bill,
it’s a tip, it’s a top, a drop
dripping at will.
A fish, a flash,
a silvery glow,
it’s the fresh morning light,
it’s the spring of a bow
It’s a truckload of wood,
it’s the pain of the bite
it’s cachaça drunk straight
on the street in the night
It’s the plan of the house,
it’s a body in bed,
it’s the car that got stuck,
it’s the mud, it’s the mud!
A step, a bridge,
a frog and a child,
it’s the landscape alive
in the fresh morning light
And the waters of March
put the summer to sleep
with the promise of life
that the heart gets to keep.
It’s a snake, it’s a stick,
it is John, it is Joe,
it’s a thorn in the hand,
it’s a cut to the toe.
And the waters of March
put the summer to sleep
with the promise of life
that the heart gets to keep.
A stick, a stone,
its the end of the road,
It’s what’s left of a stump,
It’s a little alone
A step, a bridge,
a frog and a child
It’s a lovely horizon,
it’s a fever gone wild
And the waters of March
put the summer to sleep,
with the promise of life
that the heart gets to keep.
-Pau, -Edra, -Im, -Inho
-Aco, -Idro, -Ida, -Ol
And the waters of March
put the summer to sleep,
with the promise of life
that the heart gets to keep.