Won't you come home I surrender
I miss my sweet bag of bones
Drunk and tender
Why don't you want to stay here suspended
In the dead arms of a year that has ended
(I'd do it all over again but I'd rather not)
Devolve a luz, bom comandante, à tua pátria.
Pois logo que teu rosto de Primavera
para o povo reluz, o dia mais alegre passa,
os raios do sol melhor brilham.