Cassandra Wilson Only A Dream In Rio
More than a distant land over a shining sea.
More than the steaming green. More than the shining
eyes.
Well they tell me it's only a dream in Rio.
Nothing could be as sweet as it seems on this very
first day down.
They remind me, "Son, have you so soon forgotten?"
Often as not it's rotten inside and the mask soon slips
away.
Strange taste of a tropical fruit, romantic language of
the
Portuguese.
Melody on a wooden flute, samba floating in the summer
breeze.
It's all right, you can stay asleep, you can close your
eyes,
you can trust the people of paradise to call your
keeper and tender
your good-byes.
Oh, what a night, wonderful one in a million frozen
fire Brazilian
stars.
Oh, holy southern cross, later on take me way downtown
in a tin can.
Can't come down from the bandstand, I'm never thrown
for such a loss
when they say:
Quando a nossa mãe cordar, andaremos ao sol.
Quando a nossa mãe acordar, cantará pelo sertão.
Quando a nossa mãe acordar, todos os filhos saberão.
Todos os filhos saberão e regozijarão.
Caught in the rays of the rising sun on the run from
the soldier's
gun.
Shouting out loud from the angry crowd, the mild the
wild and the
hungry child.
I'll tell you there's more than a dream in Rio.
I was there on the very day and my heart came back
alive.
There was more, more than the singing voices,
more than the upturned faces and more than the shining
eyes.
But it's more than the shining eye, more than the
steaming green,
more than the hidden hills, more than the concrete
Christ,
more than a distant land over a shining sea,
more than a hungry child, more like another time.
Born of a million years, more than a million years.
