There are certain days when I think about my people
And I feel my whole chest tighten
Because it seems to happen suddenly
Like a desire to live without noticing myself

Just like when I pass through the suburbs
I, very well, coming by train from somewhere
And then I feel a kind of envy of these people
Who move forward without even having anyone to count on

They are simple houses with chairs on the sidewalk
And on the facade, written above, "it's a home"
From the porch, sad and wild flowers
Like the joy that has nowhere to lean

Then I feel a sadness in my chest
Like a resentment of not having a way to fight
And I, who do not believe, ask God for my people
Humble people, what a desire to cry

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