Paroles et traduction César Oliveira feat. Rogério Melo - Lá Na Fronteira

Lá Na Fronteira

Lá donde o campo enfrena o dia, abrindo o peito
No velho jeito de tirar zebu da grota
Se ata espora pra um torrão de fundamento
Passando um tento, embaixo do taco da bota

Lá donde o touro mais veiaco tem costeio
Um par de arreio é ferramenta de valor
A vaca xucra esconde a cria na macega
E cavalhada não nega, que por lá hay domador
A vaca xucra esconde a cria na macega
E cavalhada não nega, que por lá hay domador

Lá donde as penas se transformam em melodias
Na campeira sinfonia de coscorra e nazarenas
Almas antigas rondam galpões nas estâncias
Pois são grandes as distâncias e as saudades tão pequenas

Lá donde ainda ecoa forte um venha, venha
Chamando a tropa, no reponte das auroras
A bagualada segue atrás da égua madrinha
Na velha estrada da linha, serpenteando tempo afora
A bagualada segue atrás da égua madrinha
Na velha estrada da linha, serpenteando tempo afora

Lá na fronteira, os tajãs por contingência
Contrabandeiam querência, ora pra um lado ora pra outro
Se ganha a vida a casco e braço nos varzedos
Se aprende cedo a ensiná a lida pra um potro

Lá na fronteira, na amplidão das invernadas
Se termina a campereada, quando o sol apaga as brasas
Então se volta, a trotezito, assoviando
Pra matear junto da china num jardim defronte as casa
Então se volta, a trotezito, assoviando
Pra matear junto da china num jardim defronte as casa

There at the Border

Where the countryside faces a day that dawns brightly
In the old tradition of driving the Zebu cattle from the hills,
We fasten spurs to establish a solid foundation,
Guiding the cattle with the tap of a stick on their boots.

Where the oldest bull has strong ribs,
A pair of reins is a valuable tool.
The wild cow hides her calf in the brush,
And the horses don't deny that there are tamers there.
The wild cow hides her calf in the brush,
And the horses don't deny that there are tamers there.

Where feathers transform into melodies,
In the prairie symphony of larks and mockingbirds.
Ancient spirits haunt the sheds on the ranches,
For the distances are great and the memories are small.

Where the echoes of a "come on, come on" still sound strong,
Calling the herd as the dawn approaches.
The horses follow behind the lead mare,
On the old trail that winds through time.
The horses follow behind the lead mare,
On the old trail that winds through time.

Along the border, smugglers use loopholes,
Smuggling goods, sometimes in one direction and sometimes in the other.
A living is made with horses and muscle in the river valleys,
Where the tradition of teaching a colt to work is learned early.

Along the border, in the vastness of the winter pastures,
The roundup ends when the sun extinguishes the embers.
We return at a trot, whistling,
To share mate with our loved ones in the garden in front of our home.
We return at a trot, whistling,
To share mate with our loved ones in the garden in front of our home.