Naquela Mesa
Naquela mesa ele sentava sempre
E me dizia sempre, o que é viver melhor,
Naquela mesa ele contava estórias
Que hoje na memoria eu guardo e sei de cor
Naquela mesa ele juntava gente e contava contente
O que fez de manhã
E nos seus olhos era tanto brilho
Que mais que seu filho, eu fiquei seu fã
Eu não sabia que doía tanto
Uma mesa no canto, uma casa e um jardim
Se eu soubesse o quanto doi a vida
Essa dor tão doída não doía assim
Agora resta uma mesa na sala
E hoje ninguem mais fala no seu bandolim
Naquela mesa tá faltando ele e a saudade dele
Tá doendo em mim
At That Table
At that table, he always sat
And he always told me, what it means to live better,
At that table, he shared stories
That today in my memory I keep and know by heart.
At that table, he gathered people and happily shared
What he did in the morning.
And in his eyes, there was so much shine
That more than being his son, I became his fan.
I didn’t know it hurt this much
A table in the corner, a house, and a garden.
If I had known how much life hurts
This painful ache wouldn’t hurt like this.
Now there’s just a table in the living room
And today no one talks about his mandolin anymore.
At that table, he’s missing, and his absence
Is hurting me.