Always A Stranger

A émigré`s Dilemma I have lived in this foreign country long, longer than I should Many seasons I have seen, my hair is grey and brow wrinkled seeking an understanding of a life that makes no sense. I know their culture, have read Fernando Pessoa sing there songs, but I came here as an adult, but my heart is not there. I wanted to be a part of this Iberian country, but when remembering a lullaby, my mother used to sing, when the party is over, I know I'm a pretender. I have lived here too long, but if I go back to my old country I will be a stranger, in a town where no one knows my name, and I will dream of a mythical Portugal.