Águas de Março - The Waters of March

This song has captivated my heart this autumn. I have begun to identify the subtle bossa nova rhythm and chords on my guitar, but the phrasing of the lyrics is nearly impossible.
My problem is each time I read through the words I cannot help blubbing. There is such potency in the way the lines are strung, like dew laden spider webs, between pessimism, loss and ending and the bright optimism of 'the promise of spring' and the earthy tactile nature of lines like, 'A scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all
It's the wind blowing free, it's the end of the slope'.
The Waters of March - a song about everything. The song is actually about the heavy rains and flooding in Rio de Janiero, in the month of March.

Variations in the lyrics abound. My chosen arrangement is by the singer Mark Murphy and so I adhere to his  particular set of words. The song was written by Antonio Carlos Jobim in brazilian portuguese and he also translated it with adaptations, into English.

Águas de Março - Antonio Carlos Jobim
(As sung by Mark Murphy)

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 river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the end of the strain, It's the joy in your heart
The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone
The beat of the road, a slingshot 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 a 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
A float, a drift, a flight, a wing
A hawk, a quail, the promise of spring
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart
INSTRUMENTAL BREAK

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 river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life in your heart, in your heart
A stick, a stone, the end of the load
The rest of a stump, a lonesome road
A sliver of glass, a life, the sun
A night, a death, the end of of the run
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart


(Words copyright of Antonio Carlos Jobim. All rights respected)