Man hides on the halo of a breast as young as the night;
on the fabric of his pillow, in the lantern light
man hoards the golden coins of his lov
But the bat, sleeping like a pendulum, only hoards the
offended da
When he died, our father left us (myself and my eight
brothers)
his house where, at night, it rained through the broken
tile
We redeemed the loan and saved the bat
Between our walls they wrangle, blind as w
Os morcegos Poema em Português