Grace

Jeff Buckley, que tão cedo nos deixou.



Grace

There's the moon asking to stay
Long enough for the clouds to fly me away
Though it's my time coming, I'm not afraid, afraid to die
My fading voice sings of love,
But she cries to the clicking of time,
Of time

Wait in the fire...

And she weeps on my arm
Walking to the bright lights in sorrow
Oh drink a bit of wine we both might go tomorrow,oh my love
And the rain is falling and I believe
My time has come
It reminds me of the pain I might leave
Leave behind

Wait in the fire...

And I feel them drown my name
So easy to know and forget with this kiss
But I'm not afraid to go but it goes so slow

Wait in the fire...

Cure for pain

Talvez um dia eu descubra cura para a minha dor.

Morphine - Cure for Pain - Live



Morphine - Cure for Pain

Where is the ritual
And tell me where where is the taste
Where is the sacrifice
And tell me where where is the faith
Someday there'll be a cure for pain
That's the day I throw my drugs away
When they find a cure for pain
Where is the cave
Where the wise woman went
And tell me where
Where's all that money that I spent
I propose a toast to my self control
You see it crawling helpless on the floor
Someday there'll be a cure for pain
That's the day I throw my drugs away
When they find a cure for pain (x2)
When they find a cure find a cure for pain

Aqualung

Para quem não os conhece, os Jethro Tull podem parecer algo estranho mas para mim, são simplesmente únicos!!!

Aqualung - Ao vivo



Jethro Tull

Sitting on a park bench
eyeing little girls with bad intent.
Snot is running down his nose
greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.
Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run.
Feeling like a dead duck
spitting out pieces of his broken luck.
Sun streaking cold
an old man wandering lonely.
Taking time
the only way he knows.
Leg hurting bad,
as he bends to pick a dog-end
he goes down to the bog
and warms his feet.

Feeling alone
the army's up the road
salvation a' la mode and
a cup of tea.
Aqualung my friend
don't start away uneasy
you poor old sod, you see, it's only me.
Do you still remember
December's foggy freeze
when the ice that
clings on to your beard was
screaming agony.
And you snatch your rattling last breaths
with deep-sea-diver sounds,
and the flowers bloom like
madness in the spring.

Impressões

Estou-me a afogar.
Num imenso mar de esgotos gerado pela hipocrisia cega de aqueles que não me conhecem.
Já desisti de me esforçar por me manter à tona.
De nada me ajudou o sangue derramado nos pulsos.
Perdi o meu respeito próprio por aqueles que o próprio respeito cedo os abandonou.
Recordo-me disto.
Será esta a prometida ascensão final ?
A merda que me enche as veias até a sua saturação, esteve sempre comigo ?
Ou só agora fez a sua aparição ?
Qualquer das maneiras, continuo a descer, puxado por sereias que me contam doces mentiras.
Prefiro negar a verdade amarga e acreditar numa doce mentira, menos dolorosa.
Estou quase a perder os sentidos, prefiro a fuga fácil, para quê esticar o braço já putrefacto, pedir socorro e adiar o inevitável ?
Algures, acima de tudo, alguém chora o afogado e mais gotas de urina se juntam as que de tantos tão facilmente foram derramadas.
E tudo é esquecido.
Para quê relembrar a mentira que se viveu quando é tão fácil viver-se outra ...