Paroles et traduction Ivan Lins - Atrás Poeira

Atrás Poeira

Ele pegou um baio
E como um Raio
Sumiu no atalho
Na algibeira
Tinha um retrato
E um Baralho

Na frente nada
Atrás poeira
Atrás porteira
Atrás da Rita
Que foi bonita
Que anda bebendo

Que anda correndo
Atrás do tempo
E dos rapazes
Que eram capazes
De ir a fundo
E dar o mundo
De dar o brilho
Que as mulheres
Tem quando casam
E lhes dão filhos

Tava perdido
Mas é sabido
Que nessa horas
Só os amigos
São quem socorre
José de porre
Tá com malfeito
Antonio morre
Daquele jeito
Tão novo ainda
Deixou bem vinda

Que era linda
Pro Zé Calixto
Que era mal-visto
Por todo lado
Ladrão de gado
Ganhou dinheiro
Virou posseiro
Montou garimpo
E anda limpo
Perdeu o cheiro
Quem tem os homens
Quando trabalham

E na Tocaia
É o que se fala
Que aquela bala
Era pra ele
Não pro parceiro
Pro violeiro
Que andava a esmo
Que era mesmo
Bom companheiro

E já que agora
Tá tudo fora
Tudo partido
E sem sentido
Não tem sentido
Ter na algibeira
O seu retrato
E o seu baralho
É ele o baio
E nada mais

Atrás Poeira

He took a bay horse
And like a lightning bolt
He disappeared on the shortcut
In his saddlebag
He had a portrait
And a deck of cards

There's nothing ahead
Behind there's dust
Behind a gate
Behind Rita
Who was beautiful
Who's been drinking

Who's been running
Behind time
And the boys
Who were capable
Of going all out
And conquering the world
Of giving the spark
That women have
When they get married
And give them children

He was lost
But he knows well
That at times like this
Only friends
Come to the rescue
José is drunk
He's in trouble
Antonio is dying
Like that
So young still
He left Bem Vinda

Who was lovely
For Zé Calixto
Who was despised
By everyone
Cattle thief
Made money
Became a landowner
Set up a gold mine
And is clean
He's lost his scent
Who has the men
When they work

And at Tocaia
That's what people say
That that bullet
Was meant for him
Not for his partner
For the minstrel
Who was wandering around
Who was truly
A good friend

And now that everything
Is gone
Everything's broken
And makes no sense
It makes no sense
To have in your saddlebag
Your portrait
And your deck of cards
It's him, the bay horse
And nothing else