Smallish mouse of the FavelasnHands cut off at the urging of the good onesnTwist the stip of your wristnLeave the last of your sinnLeave the stip of your armnAs you wait for the lost onenOh what is the first thing you’ll touch?nWhat are the first mosquito that you’ll crush me?nOn the pink bare glassnWill you smash it on the wallnJust be glad that you can drink from where they get itnLittle mouse of the FavelasnHands to be transplanted by the grace of Portuguese cherrynOh what is the first thing you’ll touch?nWhat are the first mosquito that you’ll crush me?nOn the pink bare glassnWill you smash it on the wallnJust be glad that you can drink from it againnBleed a scar on your wrist nWorse than the one you passed outnBut those fix only thatnalthough Iberia(?) has caused all your angstnOh what is the first thing you’ll touchnWhat are the first tarantula that you’ll crush menOn the pink bare glassnWill you smash it on the wallnJust be glad you can drink from where they get it