Aline Barros - Trenzinho Chic Pom Lyrics
Lyrics
Piuí, piuí Chic pom, chic pom O trenzinho vai partir Chic pom, chic pom Quem quiser pode subir Chic pom, chic pom Jesus é o capitão Piuí, piuí Chic pom, chic pom O trenzinho vai passar Chic pom, chic pom O apito vai tocar, piuí, piuí Ta na hora de embarcar
Quem tá indo para a igreja sobe aí Quem quer adorar a deus pode subir O trenzinho vai na direção do céu O trenzinho do amor já vai partir
O trenzinho vai partir Sobe aí, sobe aí Quem vai, quem vai Sobe aí, sobe aí Eu e você somos vagões Os passageiros são os nossos corações
O trenzinho vai partir Sobe aí, sobe aí Quem vai, quem vai Sobe aí, sobe aí Eu e você somos vagões Os passageiros são os nossos corações ...
Video
Aline Barros - Trenzinho Chic Pom - DVD Aline Barros e Cia 3
Meaning & Inspiration
"Jesus é o capitão." That’s the line that sticks. It sounds safe, doesn’t it? Like something painted in primary colors on a nursery wall. Aline Barros delivers it with a smile, turning faith into a locomotive ride headed straight for the sky. It’s catchy, it’s rhythmic, and it’s arguably the kind of "Cheap Grace" that makes my teeth ache when the lights go out and the bills are overdue.
When you’re standing in the back of a room—or sitting in the back of your own head—trying to reconcile a promise of a "train to heaven" with the reality of a world that feels increasingly like a derailed wreck, these lyrics don’t just feel simple. They feel insufficient. If Jesus is the captain of this train, where exactly is the track leading when the diagnosis comes back negative? Where does this train stop when the layoff notice hits the inbox at 4:45 PM on a Friday?
There’s a strange dissonance in the imagery of "our hearts" as passengers. It implies we are just along for the ride, sitting in a velvet-lined booth while the scenery changes. But the Bible, the one that doesn’t get quoted on kids' DVDs, is pretty heavy on the idea that the road isn’t a train ride. It’s a walk. And often, it’s a slog. James 1:2-4 talks about the testing of faith producing steadfastness, not a seamless ride into the sunset. It’s messy, grinding, and painful. If faith is just a ride where you "hop on," what happens when the tracks end? What happens when you realize you aren't just a passenger, but someone tasked with carrying the weight of the cross?
I look at the bright, manufactured joy in a song like this and I have to ask: what happens to the kid who learns this song and then finds out that the Captain doesn’t always steer us away from the cliff? The theology here is a thin veneer. It’s designed to keep the rhythm going, to keep the "vagões" moving. But life doesn't keep a steady rhythm. Sometimes it stops. Sometimes the air in the compartment gets thin.
Maybe the problem isn't the song itself, but how we use it to buffer ourselves against the quiet. We want a captain who drives the train so we can nap. We want to be passengers so we don’t have to answer for the steering. But if I’m honest, I’d rather have a God who sits with me in the silent house, in the dark, than one who is busy blowing a whistle on a ride that feels disconnected from the ground beneath my feet. I don’t need a conductor to tell me everything is on track. I need to know if the Captain stays when the train hits the rocks. And looking at this, I’m still not sure.