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.