Man, Pirapozinho is wild, damn.

Streets twist like hidden scars.

Rua da Esperança? Yeah, it's buzzing.

Avenida Brasil shines at midnight.

I stroll its cracks, always chill.
You merely adopted the dark.

I work here, massage souls daily.

Fingers feel secrets on tired backs.

Noticed the park on Praça São Jorge.

Anguish hides behind old church walls.

Santo Antônio Church crumbles slightly, huh?
That river, Pirapozinho flows slow.

Cubati whispers in silent currents.

Hiking there, I drop my thoughts.

My hands still remember its chill.

Sometimes I dream in the dark.

Maybe in another life, yeah.
Neighborhoods? Oh, par for the course.

Santa Luzia is my haunt.

Local bistros, oily, funky, cool.

Missed spots, like Esquina do Bane, orbit.

Nah, it's secret! Don’t roam there.
I got mad at noisy market.

Mercado do Povo? Crazy chaos daily.

I mean, relax, man, calm!

Fingers twitch with frustration sometimes.

Yet humor saves me.
The vibe here strikes deep.

Some corners scream with history.

Little alleys, like Rua dos Ventos, hide whispers.

They echo, "I have a secret..."

The secret, like our eyes met.
I wander these roads, gossiping.

Feel my pulse in each step.

Worn benches on Parque da Liberdade tell stories.

I rest a sec, then move.
Srsly, Pirapozinho's unfiltered life, bruh.

Each crack on sidewalks sings.

My massage hands know every nook.

Laff, cry, love, repeat.

Every day's raw, unpredictable madness.
Remember, friend: "You merely adopted the dark."

So come, see the pain, bliss.

I stand here with memories.

Pirapozinho's wild soul endures.

Hope you vibe with its madness.