quarta-feira, setembro 24, 2003

There is a war

Há gritos que nunca hão-de ficar datados...


There is a war between the rich and poor,
a war between the man and the woman.
There is a war between the ones who say there is a war
and the ones who say there isn't.

Why don't you come on back to the war, that's right, get in it,
why don't you come on back to the war, it's just beginning.

Well I live here with a woman and a child,
the situation makes me kind of nervous.
Yes, I rise up from her arms, she says "I guess you call this love";
I call it service.

Why don't you come on back to the war, don't be a tourist,
why don't you come on back to the war, before it hurts us,
why don't you come on back to the war, let's all get nervous.

You cannot stand what I've become,
you much prefer the gentleman I was before.
I was so easy to defeat, I was so easy to control,
I didn't even know there was a war.

Why don't you come on back to the war, don't be embarrassed,
why don't you come on back to the war, you can still get married.

There is a war between the rich and poor,
a war between the man and the woman.
There is a war between the left and right,
a war between the black and white,
a war between the odd and the even.

Why don't you come on back to the war, pick up your tiny burden,
why don't you come on back to the war, let's all get even,
why don't you come on back to the war, can't you hear me speaking?

Leonard Cohen

sexta-feira, setembro 19, 2003

Fly on a Windshield.

There's something solid forming in the air,
And the wall of death is lowered in Times Square.
No-one seems to care,
They carry on as if nothing was there.
The wind is blowing harder now,
Blowing dust into my eyes.
The dust settles on my skin,
Making a crust I cannot move in
And I'm hovering like a fly, waiting for the windshield on the freeway.

"The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway Lyrics", Genesis, 1975

quarta-feira, setembro 17, 2003


Sweden

I would like to
Live in Sweden
When my work is done,
Where the snow lies
Crisp and even
'Neath the midnight sun.

Safe and
Clean and
Green and
Modern
Bright and breezy,
Free and easy.

Sweden,
Sweden,
Sweden,
In Sweden.

I am gonna
Live in Sweden,
Please don't ask me why,
For if I were to
Give a reason
It would be a lie.

Tall and
Strong and
Blonde and
Blue eyed
Pure and healthy,
Very wealthy.

Sweden,
Sweden,
Sweden,
In Sweden.

I'll grow wings and fly to Sweden
When my time is come.
Then at last my eyes shall see them -
Heroes everyone:
Ingmar Bergman,
Henrik Ibsen,
Karin Larsson,
Nina Persson.

Sweden,
Sweden,
Sweden
In Sweden.


The Divine Comedy in Fin de Siècle
PSsst.: Novo álbum talvez no ínicio de 2004 diz aqui.

sábado, setembro 13, 2003

DON'T TAKE YOUR GUNS TO TOWN

By John R. Cash
Recorded 8/13/58



A young cowboy named Billy Joe
Grew restless on the farm
A boy filled with wanderlust
Who really meant no harm
He changed his clothes and shined his boots
And combed his dark hair down
And his mother cried as he walked out;

Refrain:
"Don't take your guns to town, son
Leave your guns at home, Bill
Don't take your guns to town."

He sang a song as on he rode,
His guns hung at his hips
He rode into a cattle town,
A smile upon his lips
He stopped and walked into a bar and laid his money down
But his mother's words echoed again;

Refrain:
"Don't take your guns to town, son
Leave your guns at home, Bill
Don't take your guns to town."

He drank his first strong liquor then to calm his shaking hand
And tried to tell himself at last he had become a man
A dusty cowpoke at his side began to laugh him down
And he heard again his mother's words;

Refrain:
"Don't take your guns to town, son
Leave your guns at home, Bill
Don't take your guns to town."

Bill was raged and Billy Joe reached for his gun to draw
But the stranger drew his gun and fired before he even saw
As Billy Joe fell to the floor the crowd all gathered 'round
And wondered at his final words;

Refrain:
"Don't take your guns to town, son
Leave your guns at home, Bill
Don't take your guns to town."

domingo, setembro 07, 2003

Quase

Um pouco mais de sol - eu era brasa,
Um pouco mais de azul - eu era além.
Para atingir, faltou-me um golpe de asa...
Se ao menos eu permanecesse aquém...

Assombro ou paz? Em vão... Tudo esvaído
Num baixo mar enganador de espuma;
E o grande sonho despertado em bruma,
O grande sonho - ó dor! - quase vivido...

Quase o amor, quase o triunfo e a chama,
Quase o princípio e o fim - quase a expansão...
Mas na minh'alma tude se derrama...
Entanto nada foi só ilusão!

De tudo houve um começo... e tudo errou...
- Ai a dor de ser-quase, dor sem fim... -
Eu falhei-me entr os mais, falhei em mim,
Asa que se elançou mas não voou...

Momentos de alma que desbaratei...
Templos aonde nunca pus um altar...
Rios que perdi sem os levar ao mar...
Ânsias que foram mas que não fixei...

Se me vagueio, encontro só indícios...
Ogivas para o sol - vejo-as cerradas;
E mãos de herói, sem fé, acobardadas,
Puseram grades sobre os precipícios...

Num ímpeto difuso de quebranto,
Tudo encetei e nada possuí...
Hoje, de mim, só resta o desencanto
Das coisas que beijei mas não vivi...

Um pouco mais de sol - e fora brasa,
Um pouco mais de azul - e fora além.
Para atingir, faltou-me um golpe de asa...
Se ao menos eu permanecesse aquém...


Mário de Sá-Carneiro