Canto da Bahia by Camaro Orkestra Lyrics
[Intro] (Anthony Joseph, spoken poetically)
We are waiting, on those warms steps that lead down to the sea
Weary, beside where the fishery is
Where we have been waiting each day from six
Waiting, for what seems like centuries
Waiting for the fishermen to come back from the sea
And in the red evening, before the small boat floats into vision
There is only a glimpse between thе sun, the water
And the steep hill that thеse fishermen must climb to the altar
Where they divide their catch
Into catfish, and kingfish, the parrotfish
The scales of which were then light sparks
Rainbows, rainbows, rainbows...
[Scat break] (female voice)
[Portuguese Verse 1] (same voice)
[Verse] (Anthony Joseph, spoken poetically)
We wait until the cut curve of the moon shines like blue money
Blue money in the fisherman's hand
The hand he keeps dry behind his back
The way he leaves to his work, his mythology
The cup, a scent of blood, the hot salt of islands
Another man has cleared an altar in the dark shade of the fisheries
When we first arrived, we thought that he had come just to pull up the reins
Just to pull up the reins for his crew you know
To affix the boat to solid land, but know we see
How the repeated peel of the scaling knife
Carves an indentation into wood
Which is brief and deep
To shave and cleave
The tough spines of the Black St. Peter’s Fish
And then there is the way that he rose his vest up his belly
How he grins when he says
"when these people come to my fish, boy
There's big greater fish - they bring it up."
And then he asks:
"and you, and you, and you, and you
Where you from?
Where you from yourself?"
Like you're torn so far from this particular light
Torn so far away from home
But the sea will always bring you back
Like waves do, like life
And this is all history
I paint you! I paint you!
I paint one eye brown and one eye blue (eh)
I had helped to build that church
But I would not worship there
Not till, not till, not till, not till
The mother of the church passed on to higher numbers
And then, and then, and then...
I would play the spiritual game
I must have uttered some sound
I must have stood high
And grinning in my canoe
Because someone saw me, [Scat recommences]
And called me, by my true name
And I ran to the house just in a dream
Still a dream, still a dream...
[Portuguese Verse 2]
[faded vocals]
We are waiting, on those warms steps that lead down to the sea
Weary, beside where the fishery is
Where we have been waiting each day from six
Waiting, for what seems like centuries
Waiting for the fishermen to come back from the sea
And in the red evening, before the small boat floats into vision
There is only a glimpse between thе sun, the water
And the steep hill that thеse fishermen must climb to the altar
Where they divide their catch
Into catfish, and kingfish, the parrotfish
The scales of which were then light sparks
Rainbows, rainbows, rainbows...
[Scat break] (female voice)
[Portuguese Verse 1] (same voice)
[Verse] (Anthony Joseph, spoken poetically)
We wait until the cut curve of the moon shines like blue money
Blue money in the fisherman's hand
The hand he keeps dry behind his back
The way he leaves to his work, his mythology
The cup, a scent of blood, the hot salt of islands
Another man has cleared an altar in the dark shade of the fisheries
When we first arrived, we thought that he had come just to pull up the reins
Just to pull up the reins for his crew you know
To affix the boat to solid land, but know we see
How the repeated peel of the scaling knife
Carves an indentation into wood
Which is brief and deep
To shave and cleave
The tough spines of the Black St. Peter’s Fish
And then there is the way that he rose his vest up his belly
How he grins when he says
"when these people come to my fish, boy
There's big greater fish - they bring it up."
And then he asks:
"and you, and you, and you, and you
Where you from?
Where you from yourself?"
Like you're torn so far from this particular light
Torn so far away from home
But the sea will always bring you back
Like waves do, like life
And this is all history
I paint you! I paint you!
I paint one eye brown and one eye blue (eh)
I had helped to build that church
But I would not worship there
Not till, not till, not till, not till
The mother of the church passed on to higher numbers
And then, and then, and then...
I would play the spiritual game
I must have uttered some sound
I must have stood high
And grinning in my canoe
Because someone saw me, [Scat recommences]
And called me, by my true name
And I ran to the house just in a dream
Still a dream, still a dream...
[Portuguese Verse 2]
[faded vocals]