Águas de Março
Portuguese for “Waters of March“
by Antonio Carlos Jobim
(who also gave us Girl From Ipanema and Desafinado
and lots of other Brazilian wonders.)

When writing the English lyrics to his Portuguese hit, Jobim tried to avoid words with Latin roots, which resulted in the English version having more verses than the Portuguese. Another way in which the English lyrics differ is that the English version considers March from the perspective of the northern hemisphere. In this context, the waters are the “waters of snow melt” in springtime. The rains referred to in the original Portuguese mark the end of summer and the beginning of autumn in the southern hemisphere.

In 2001, “Águas de Março” was named as the all-time best Brazilian song in a poll of more than 200 Brazilian journalists, musicians and other artists conducted by Brazil's leading daily newspaper, Folha de São Paulo.

The lyrics, originally written in Portuguese, do not tell a story, but rather present a series of images that form a collage. – wikipedia

If you watch the video all the way to the end you'll see the singer, Elis Regina, get tickled with herself and the song. It's rather a delightful moment.

Remember the death of Elvis? Michael Jackson? When Elis Regina died at the age of 36 in 1982, on the verge of a new marriage, new house, new recording contract, and new music group, reportedly of an accidental mixture of alcohol (from the previous night) and cocaine (the following morning), she had recorded dozens of top-selling records in her career. 100,000 mourners attended her memorial. Elis Regina has sold over 80 million albums, most of which are still available. Her death is still mourned in Brazil and around the world.

These are the English lyrics:
(as opposed to the translated Portuguese lyrics seen in the video.)

A stick, a stone,
It's the end of the road,
It's the rest of a stump,
It's a little alone

It's a sliver of glass,
It is life, it's the sun,
It is night, it is death,
It's a trap, it's a gun

The oak when it blooms,
A fox in the brush,
A knot in the wood,
The song of a thrush

The wood of the wind,
A cliff, a fall,
A scratch, a lump,
It is nothing at all

It's the wind blowing free,
It's the end of the slope,
It's a beam, it's a void,
It's a hunch, it's a hope

And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the end of the strain,
The joy in your heart

The foot, the ground,
The flesh and the bone,
The beat of the road,
A slingshot's stone

A fish, a flash,
A silvery glow,
A fight, a bet,
The range of a bow

The bed of the well,
The end of the line,
The dismay in the face,
It's a loss, it's a find

A spear, a spike,
A point, a nail,
A drip, a drop,
The end of the tale

A truckload of bricks
in the soft morning light,
The shot of a gun
in the dead of the night

A mile, a must,
A thrust, a bump,
It's a girl, it's a rhyme,
It's a cold, it's the mumps

The plan of the house,
The body in bed,
And the car that got stuck,
It's the mud, it's the mud

Afloat, adrift,
A flight, a wing,
A hawk, a quail,
The promise of spring

And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the promise of life
It's the joy in your heart

A stick, a stone,
It's the end of the road
It's the rest of a stump,
It's a little alone

A snake, a stick,
It is John, it is Joe,
It's a thorn in your hand
and a cut in your toe

A point, a grain,
A bee, a bite,
A blink, a buzzard,
A sudden stroke of night

A pin, a needle,
A sting, a pain,
A snail, a riddle,
A wasp, a stain

A pass in the mountains,
A horse and a mule,
In the distance the shelves
rode three shadows of blue

And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the promise of life
in your heart, in your heart