Construção

Up, Down.



When I first heard this I thought it was more universal - I thought there was a question about him possibly killing himself; but there is nothing in the song like that - it is a different kind of suicide. The poor come to Rio and the other cities looking for the end of the rainbow and find 7-day-a-week jobs building high-rises. And some of them trip and fall off and die.

Written sometime around 1971, he would have been 27 years old.

The last verse is generally not included but was part of the original song - ai ai!



Sorry about the frames - if you don't have a wide screen it will be jumbled but I wanted it side-by-side.

Construção, Chico Buarque		Construction
Amou daquela vez como se fosse a última Beijou sua mulher como se fosse a última E cada filho seu como se fosse o único E atravessou a rua com seu passo tímido Subiu a construção como se fosse máquina Ergueu no patamar quatro paredes sólidas Tijolo com tijolo num desenho mágico Seus olhos embotados de cimento e lágrima Sentou pra descansar como se fosse sábado Comeu feijão com arroz como se fosse um príncipe Bebeu e soluçou como se fosse um náufrago Dançou e gargalhou como se ouvisse música E tropeçou no céu como se fosse um bêbado E flutuou no ar como se fosse um pássaro E se acbou no chão feito um pacote flácido Agonizou no meio do passeio público Morreu na contramão atrapalhando o tráfego		You loved that time as if it were the last You kissed your wife as if she were the last And each child as if he were the only one And crossed the street with your timid step The construction rose as if it were a machine Growing from the landing four solid walls Brick upon brick in a magic design Your eyes dulled with cement and tears You sat down to rest as if it were Saturday You ate beans and rice as if you were a prince You drank and sobbed as if it were a shipwreck You danced and roared as if it were music And tripped on the sky as if you were a drunk And floated on the air as if you were a bird And ended on the ground in a flaccid lump Drew your last reath in the public sidewalk Died on a one-way tying up traffic
Amou daquela vez como se fosse o último Beijou sua mulher como se fosse a única E cada filho seu como se fosse o pródigo E atravessou a rua com seu passo bêbado Subiu a construção como se fosse sólido Ergueu no patamar quatro paredes mágicas Tijolo com tijolo num desenho lógico Seus olhos embotados de cimento e tráfego Sentou pra descansar como se fosse um príncipe Comeu feijão com arroz como se fosse máquina Dançou e gargalhou como se fosse o próximo E tropeçou no céu como se ouvisse música E flutuou no ar como se fosse sábado E se acabou no chão feito um pacote tímido Agonizou no meio do passeio náufrago Morreu na contramão atrapalhando o público		You loved that time as if you were the last You kissed your wife as if she were the only one And each child as if he were the prodigal And crossed the road with your drunken step The construction rose as if it were solid There grew on the landing four magic walls Brick upon brick in a logical design Your eyes dulled with cement and traffic You sat down to rest as if you were a prince You ate beans and rice as if you were a machine You danced and shouted as if you were next to heaven And tripped on the sky as if you were hearing music And floated on the air as if it were Saturday And ended on the ground making a timid package You took your last breath on the shipwrecked sidewalk You died on the one-way tying up the public
Amou daquela vez como se fosse máquina Beijou sua mulher como se fosse lógico Ergueu no patamar quatro paredes flácidas Sentou pra descansar como se fosse um pássaro E flutuou no ar como se fosse um príncipe E se acabou no chão feito um pacote bêbado Morreu na contramão atrapalhando o sábado		You loved that time as if you were a machine You kissed your wife as if it were logical On the landing rose four flaccid walls You sat down to rest as if you were a bird And floated on the air as if you were a prince And ended on the ground like a drunken package You died on the one-way holding up Saturday
Por esse pão pra comer, por esse chão prá dormir A certidão pra nascer e a concessão pra sorrir Por me deixar respirar, por me deixar existir, Deus lhe pague Pela cachaça de graça que a gente tem que engolir Pela fumaça e a desgraça, que a gente tem que tossir Pelos andaimes pingentes que a gente tem que cair, Deus lhe pague Pela mulher carpideira pra nos louvar e cuspir E pelas moscas bicheiras a nos beijar e cobrir E pela paz derradeira que enfim vai nos redimir, Deus lhe pague		For this bread to eat, for this ground to sleep on The certificate to be born and the permission to smile To let me breathe, to let me exist, God will pay you For the grace of cachaca that we have to swallow For the smoke and the despair, that we have to cough For the hanging scaffolds that we have to fall from, God will pay you For the wailing woman to praise us and spit And for the swarming flies to kiss and cover us And for the last peace that will finally redeem us, God will pay you