This video is for you to have a glimpse and to enjoy a good Brazilian music, sung in English, very different from that music which is presented to the Americans on the carnivals and Brazilian festivals in New York. Oh!.. that is PAIN for me. So, may my little voice echo and say what of good and true my beloved Brazil has.
Tom Jobim, one of the icons of Brazilian popular music composed this song, "Waters of March", beautiful, true, soulful, a picture of my folk's history, a Brazilian everyday sung in a very smooth way.
Enjoy! A good weekend to all *Sing together, may it fill up your heart with joy!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=mcERxtlRPQo
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VtrR5YvZRxg
A stick, a stone,
It's the end of the road,
It's the rest of a stump,
It's a little alone
It's a sliver of glass,
It is life, it's the sun,
It is night, it is death,
It's a trap, it's a gun
The oak when it blooms,
A fox in the brush,
A knot in the wood,
The song of a thrush
A cliff, a fall,
A scratch, a lump,
It is nothing at all
It's the wind blowing free,
It's the end of the slope,
It's a beam, it's a void,
It's a hunch, it's a hope
And the river bank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the end of the strain,
It's the joy in your heart
The flesh and the bone,
The beat of the road,
A slingshot's stone
A fish, a flash,
A silvery glow,
A fight, a bet,
The range of a bow
The bed of the well,
The end of the line,
The dismay in the face,
It's a loss, it's a find
A point, a nail,
A drip, a drop,
The end of the tale
A truckload of bricks
in the soft morning light,
The sound of a shot
in the dead of the night
A mile, a must,
A thrust, a bump,
It's a girl, it's a rhyme,
It's a cold, it's the mumps
The plan of the house,
The body in bed,
And the car that got stuck,
It's the mud, it's the mud
A flight, a wing,
A hawk, a quail,
The promise of Spring
And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the promise of life
It's the joy in your heart
A snake, a stick
It is John, it is Joe,
It's a thorn in your hand
and a cut in your toe
A bee, a bite,
A blink, a buzzard,
A sudden stroke of night
A pass in the mountains,
A horse and a mule,
In the distance the shelves
rode three shadows of blue
And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the promise of life
in your heart, in your heart
A stick, a stone,
The end of the road,
The rest of a stump,
A lonesome road
A sliver of glass,
A life, the sun,
A knife, a death,
The end of the run
And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the end of all strain,
It's the joy in your heart.
