In the Form of a Prayer
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Song from 1933. Translation by Kirsten Weinoldt of Brazzil Magazine, 2000
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Who thinks he keeps getting lost
For that now I'll defend myself
From the pain, so cruel, of this longing
Which, from unhappiness
Invades my poor breast
Drumming is a privilege
Nobody learns samba in school
To dance the samba is to cry
with happiness
Is to smile with nostalgia
Within the melody
For that, now
To Penha I'll send
My dark woman to sing
With satisfaction
With harmony
This sad melody
Which is my samba
In the form of a prayer
Samba in reality
Does not come from the hill,
nor from the city
And he who bears a passion
Will feel that the samba then
Is born in the heart
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