Morro Dois Irmãos

Two Brothers, when the early morning comes
And at your feet the instruments will lean
I learned to respect your plummet
And distrust your silence

I think I hear the crossed pulsation
Of what was and what will be in another existence
It's as if the expanded rock
Was a concentration of times

It's as if the rhythm of nothing
Was, indeed, all rhythms inside
Or, then, like a stopped music
On a moving mountain