O Batuqueiro Está Morto

The drummer is dead
And I know who killed
It's because of the invisible bread
The invisible hand sold its drum

The drummer died
And nobody buried
Tell Francisco that the band has passed by
But you have no more love things to say

And it wasn't even a real band
It was really a bunch of men with guns
Spitting in our faces
That war had come

We were already here
Of invisible bread
Invisible dream
Of invisible life

Now we had to swallow a bullet
Clearly visible in the hearts of those who did not deserve to die
Sir, we cannot eat tambourine

Dear listener
Die for your nation
My dear listener
Die for your food

27 years is a long time to live
Says the man in a tie with 89

And after the death of the drummer
The suits made a film about his life
And they made a lot of money on it

They celebrated the box office success
Popping champagne and eating meat
In one of those mansions in Bela Vista

And they invited the poor son
Of the poor drummer
To liven up the party a little

National anthem
No tribal endorsement
No tribal endorsement

Asked to kill
Killed