Três Apitos

When the whistle of the textile factory
Comes to hurt my ears
I remember you

But you walk
Undoubtedly very angry
And you are interested
In pretending you don't see me

You who respond to the whistle of a clay chimney
Why don't you respond to the
So distressed
Horn of my car

You in the winter
Without socks go to work
Don't believe in warm clothes
Nor do you believe in the cold

But you are truly unique
When the factory whistles
It advertises you

In my eyes you read
That I suffer cruelly
With jealousy of the manager
Impertinent
Who gives orders to you

I am of the night, a very gloomy poet
I will become a night watchman
And you know why

But you don't know
That while you make cloth
I compose by the piano
These verses for you