To plough the land, to sow,
two callused hands,
whitewash souls, deep roots,
fertile seed.
Oh green mountain,
source of living water,
of the green that I feel,
of the green that I breathe,
of the smell that is green!
Oh green mountain,
source of living water,
of the green that I feel,
of the green that I breathe,
of the sweet smell of seeing you!
On the wings of an Açor*
fly over houses,
exalt the pain
with fluttering beats.
Magma of the people of the sun,
you will sing a new fado,
when the volcano awakes,
you shall sing a new fado.
*bird of prey, from the falcon family
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