Sailor, sailor, Sailor of sorrow, Because of you I’ll die tomorrow...
The waves crashed, Dashed on sand, Off he went, My sailor man...
A sailor’s love, Lasts not a day, His ship weighs anchor, And sails away...
The waves crashed... That song had always filled me with a sadness I couldn’t understand.
Totoca gave me a tug. I came to my senses. “What’s up, Zezé?”
“Nothing. I was singing.” “Singing?” “Yeah.” “Then I must be going deaf.”
Didn’t he know you could sing on the inside? I kept quiet.
If he didn’t know, I wasn’t going to teach him. We had come to the edge of the Rio–São Paulo Highway.
On it, there was everything. Trucks, cars, carts and bicycles.
“Look, Zezé, this is important. First we take a good look one way, and then the other. Now go.”
We ran across the highway. “Were you scared?” I was, but I shook my head.
“Let’s do it again together. Then I want to see if you’ve learned.” We ran back.
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