It is said that there was a time when birds dressed like people and walked among us. That when we forgot the origin, they did not cross back into this world. But Urubu remained in the penumbra. There, where the earth ends and the mist begins, wandering, he lets himself be seen.
He can be heard as a silent lament above the sound of the waves. With the leaden sky that intones its presence, With a gruff and lonely profile like a shadow of a black that has neither beginning nor end. The curious wind that from the sea beats against the wall And accompanies him as his voice. The ancients say that at nightfall, He can be seen wandering on the top of the cliff.