To relive the past...

I went in search of fado
To find out where it lived
I did the rounds of Lisbon
I questioned every shadow
In Mouraria ... in Bairro
Alto and Madragoa.

Each place I went I heard
Corrupted by bad taste
Repeated sambas... trite songs
I confess... I cried
Thinking because of these
Fado itself had died.

I ended up in Alfama
And heard the tender crone
And what did I find at last
Light in the dark... fado
Within the tavern... a voice
Rustic... that sang like...
Telling about...