I heard of one jailed innocent Mother
Whose steel bars became your guitar strings
You strummed
Turned your tuning keys
So she could escape
Whilst prison officers
In the next room
Cried and swayed
Watching your concert
On tv
The bridge of your guitar
Connects them all
In Sao Paulo
The people of the Favelas
Sing so hard
That when they exhale
Strong breaths
Turn their tin roofs
Into earthen clay
Like the ones
That cover your Mother's old house
In Salvador
The wood varnish for your guitar
Is smeared on my windows
So even on gloomy days
Gap toothed burnt orange rays
Via Rio
Are smiling in
I look forward
To waking up each morning
Somewhere dark and beautiful
Like your soundhole
I want to learn Portugese
Or you could learn Somali
So we could have conversations
Free of any pretense
I would clasp your hand
And you would play justice into my fingers
And our people would love that
I'm sure
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