A stick, a stone
It's the end of the road
It's the rest of the stump
It's a little alone
It's a sliver of glass
It is life, it's the sun
It is night, it is death
It's a trap, it's a gun
The oak when it blooms
A fox in the brush
The knot of the wood
The song of the thrush
The wood of the wind
The criff, a fall
A scratch, a lump
It is nothing at all
It's the wind blowing free
It's the end of a slope
It's a beam, it's a void
It's a hunch, it's a hope
And the riverbank talks
Of the waters of March
It's the end of the stain
It's the joy in your heart
...- Antonio Carlos Jobim
