Restolho

The stubble moans, sad and alone
Rocking in the dark, cold night
And getting lost in the gaze of the wind
That sings to the tune of the old bell tower

The stubble moans, trapped in longing
Forgotten, driven mad, overwhelmed
Hidden among the shadows of the grove
Without strength, without color, without will

The stubble moans, sweating from the rain
In the fields that the reaper has maimed
Sleeping in old dreams it once dreamed
In the soul, the huge, intense, sharp sorrow

But it’s necessary to die and be born again
To sow in the dust and reap once more
You have to be wheat, then be stubble
You have to struggle to learn how to live

And life isn’t just existing for nothing
Life isn’t just day in, day out
It’s made in every wild surrender
To receive what makes the heart grow

The stubble moans, sweating from the rain
In the fields that the reaper has maimed
Sleeping in old dreams it once dreamed
In the soul, the huge, intense, sharp sorrow

But it’s necessary to die and be born again
To sow in the dust and reap once more
You have to be wheat, then be stubble
You have to struggle to learn how to live

And life isn’t just existing for nothing
Life isn’t just day in, day out
It’s made in every wild surrender
To receive what makes the heart grow