Pra Tudo se Acabar na Quarta-Feira

The great passion
That was the inspiration
Of the poet is the plot
That moves the old guard
There in the front commission
Like the board
Glory to those who work the whole year
In a collective effort
They are sculptors, painters, embroiderers
They are carpenters, glaziers, seamstresses
Costume designer, draftsman, and artisan
People committed to building the illusion
And who have dreams
Like the old Bahian
Who was a dancer
Played in a wing
They say she was the great love of a master of ceremonies
The samba musician is an artist
And our Tom is the harmony director
The revelers are carried away
By the drummers
Dream of kings, pirates, and gardeners
For everything to end on Wednesday
But Lent on the hill is colorful
With costumes already worn on the avenue
That are curtains, that are flags
Reason for the very real life of Wednesday
That's why I sing