Magos Molhados, english version

At the risk of not being understood, I decided to translate the poem "Magos Molhados" to english, so it may be better understood by whoever isn't familiar to Portuguese. Even though literature isn't really translatable.

"Wet but Wise"

We hurt with no sense, and perspire love.

The wound that stays, recovers hurtfully.

We breathe salt that burns us inside.

It burns as the burning flame that it is.

We change clothes like who bites ones nails.

But with the clothes come memories.

Simple thoughts that call us low.

And the clothes don't go to wash.

They rest in the basket in spirals of rich flavour.

Calling low whoever hears.

So we put words with no sense together.

A colourless melody.

We don't sing because the eyes are already doing it.

Shiny as wet bugs.

They're wise without knowing.

Each foot a wish.

If lost, I don't know.

But felt, for sure.