Buraco

The tracks on the ground
Passed through here
The shadow, the gap
Proud Zumbi
And the cry of no
For those who could hear
No world, no land, no people, no language, no name, nothing of self
In the hollow hole of History, in a tapiri
Tapiri

Krejé, Maranhão
Xetá, Paraná
Avá, Tocantins
Auré and Aurá
Juma, Kayapó
Brothers without a place
No world, no land, no people, no language, no name, nothing of self
In the hollow hole of History, in a tapiri
Tapiri

Feeling the end
Dressed up for it
Lying down, fetal
Death waited
The transcendental
Disembodied
No world, no land, no people, no language, no name, nothing of self
In the hollow hole of History, in a tapiri
Tapiri

Not even a sound
Ever emitted
Stoic lived
Stoic departed
And by not showing
Showed Brazil
No world, no land, no people, no language, no name, nothing of self
In the hollow hole of History, in a tapiri
Tapiri