A Carta

Dear mom, I hope you’re doing well
I’m okay here too, don’t want to worry you
But around here, there are people in charge
There are others like me, and some who don’t care at all
Medicine is still the magic, oh my mom
But the doctrine heals the disillusioned infidels
With the saint that’s so revered
Hurrying along, rushing past

The motorized vehicle, while the frantic disciple
Heads down the city towards the noon sun
Hoping, when he pays his tithe, to buy a spot in heaven
The rhythms break, faces close up
Ignoring the heartaches, ignoring the strength of the heartbroken
Inspired by the new sounds of the new outskirts
In how many phone calls does the city’s face change
Buildings, cranes, half-naked ladies, progress runs over
Honestly, the generation of utopia
Not even my song smiles, no longer innocent
Not like the first time, nor like the first day
Oh mom, oh mom, oh dear mom!
Your son once dreamed of changing the world
Mutilated, downcast, the compatriots descend
The citizens, searching for change at the traffic lights
Of the new civilization
Oh mom: Galaça mu, galaça!

I hope I don’t fall into disgrace for not being a mirror
Of the sterile content of the new television
Born ducks, ladies in high heels
Attending the weddings where all the Marias
Walk through the mud of the semi-asphalt
Cousins, your daughters, mine, and others'
They belong to whoever gets there first
As someone sang one day
Dear mom, I hope you’re doing well
Here’s a kiss from your son who loves you so much
If you need anything, just call me, oh my mom
I fight not to lose your beloved homeland

Your son, one day, dreamed of changing the world!
Oh mom, oh mom, oh dear mom!
Your son, one day, dreamed of changing the world!
Oh mom!
Illusion of the world