…ah, milton, angel…

Seller of dreams
I have the profession Traveler
the clerk who brings in baggage
life and repertoire of songs

And of hope
more stubborn than a child
I invade the rooms, the rooms
windows and hearts

Phrases I invent
they fly aimlessly in the wind
looking for place and time
where someone also wants to sing them

Seeing my dreams
and in return the faith walking
I have at the end of the trip
a stone path happy

So many years telling hitória
love the place I was born
many years singing my time
my people of faith I smile
many years of voice on the roads
so many dreams that I’ve lived