Текст и перевод песни Sulino & Marrueiro - A Marca do Berrante

A Marca do Berrante

Conheci o Batistinha
No tempo que eu fui peão
Viajamos muito tempo
Trazendo boi do sertão

Pra laçar um pantaneiro
Batista era dos bão
Também era respeitado
No lombo de um pagão

Ele tinha por estima
Um bão cavalo arreado
Um berrante Rio Grandense
Com o seu nome gravado

O seu cachorro Gavião
Não saía do seu lado
Três vidas bem diferentes
Com seu destino traçado

A nossa última viagem
Até hoje eu tô lembrado
Nós vinha de Aquidauana
Pra Barretos destinado

Chegando no Porto Quinze
Um boi ficou arribado
Pra ir buscar o mestiço
Batistinha foi mandado

A noite foi se passando
Ele não aparecia
Meu coração palpitava
Qualquer coisa pressentia

No outro dia bem cedo
Logo a notícia corria
E o triste uivar de um cachorro
Lá muito longe se ouvia

Reunimos a peonada
Pra procurar o peão
Na beira do pantanal
Vi o cachorro Gavião

Ali terminava o rastro
Do seu cavalo Alazão
Um berrante em cima d'água
Foi que trouxe a solução

O seu cavalo afundou
Naquele brejo atolante
Levando seu cavaleiro
Pra outro mundo distante

Não encontramos seu corpo
Mas a certeza é bastante
Sei que era o Batistinha
Pela marca do berrante

The Mark of the Horn

I met Batistinha, my dear,
Back when I was a young cowboy so clear,
We traveled long, through sun and through rain,
Bringing cattle back from the open plain.

To lasso a Pantaneiro steer,
Batista, he was one of the best, my dear,
Respected he was, far and near,
On the back of a wild horse, no fear.

He cherished, with love so true,
A fine horse, saddled and new,
A Rio Grandense horn, shining and bright,
With his name engraved, a beautiful sight.

His dog, Gavião, loyal and bold,
Never left his side, I'm told,
Three lives so different, yet intertwined,
With a destiny already defined.

Our last journey together, a memory so clear,
I still remember it, year after year,
We were coming from Aquidauana's gate,
To Barretos, our final, destined date.

Arriving at Porto Quinze, a bustling place,
A steer strayed, lost without a trace,
To retrieve the mestiço, swift and strong,
Batistinha was sent, where did he go wrong?

Night fell upon us, dark and deep,
He didn't return, my worries did creep,
My heart pounded, a feeling so strange,
I sensed something was wrong, a premonition of change.

The next day, early, at the break of dawn,
The news spread quickly, all hope was gone,
And the mournful howl of a dog in despair,
Echoed from afar, a sound beyond compare.

We gathered the cowboys, a somber band,
To search for our friend, across the land,
At the edge of the Pantanal, vast and wide,
I saw Gavião, his faithful guide.

There the trail ended, a path unclear,
Of his sorrel horse, Alazão, my dear,
A horn floating on the water, a sight so grim,
Brought the tragic solution, to the water's whim.

His horse had sunk, in the mire so deep,
In that treacherous bog, where secrets sleep,
Taking its rider, to a distant shore,
To a world unknown, forevermore.

We didn't find his body, a sorrowful tale,
But the certainty remains, without fail,
I know it was Batistinha, lost to the tide,
By the mark on the horn, his identity tied.