• Portugal, the traffic, the summer rain
    The place where life doesn’t give you a seat
    And where the thick, wet moss swallows your feet
    Where love can only bring you fear and pain
    In a shop I hear a woman complain:
    “The pears I bought yesterday weren’t sweet!”
    Oh, but pears like those you shall never meet
    For that sweetness was stolen by the rain.
    Yet, there are some treasures this country hides
    The beautiful blossoming of our springs
    The warm breeze brought by the African tides
    And the dark secrets the north wind confides.
    With pure bravery the fadista sings
    And nobody knows which secrets she hides