Return to a land called Paraiso, a place where a dying river ends. No birds there fly over Paraiso, no space allows them to endure. The smoke that screens the air, the grass that's never there.
And if I could see a single bird, what a joy. I try to write some words and create a simple song to be heard by the rest of the world.
I live in this land called Paraiso, in a house made of cardboard floors and walls. I learned to be free in Paraiso, free to claim anything I see. Matching rags for my clothes, plastic bags for the cold.
And if empty cans were all I have, what a joy. I never fight to take someone else's coins and live with fear like the rest of the boys.
Paraiso, help me make a stand. Paraiso, take me by the hand Paraiso, make the world understand that if I could see a single bird, what a joy. This tired and hungry land could expect some truth and hope and respect from the rest of the world.
