Archive for março, 2010

Philosophy, Ben Folds

Excelente performance. Letra fantástica.

Won’t you look up at the skyline
at the mortar block and glass
and check out the reflections
in my eyes
you see they always
used to be there
even when this all was grass
and I sang and danced
about a high-rise

you were laughing at
my helmet hat
laughing at my torch

Go ahead you can
laugh all you want
I got my philosophy
keeps my feet on the ground
and I trust it like the ground
and that’s why my philosophy(my phil-)
it keeps me walking when I’m falling down(o-so-phy)

I see that there is evil
and I know that there is good
and the inbetweens
I never understood
won’t you look at me
I’m crazy
but I get the job done
yeah I’m crazy
but I get the job done

I pushed you ‘cause
I loved you guys
I didn’t realize
you weren’t having fun
I dragged you up the stairs
and I told you to fly
you were flapping your arms
you started to cry
you were too high
too high

You may take this all for granted
take the mortar, block and glass
and you forget the speech
that moved the stone
but it’s really not that you can’t see
the forest for the trees
you’ve never been out
in the woods alone

So you can laugh
all you want to
but I got my philosophy
keeps my feet on the ground
and I love you
you’re my friend
but you got no philosophy
now it’s time for this song to end

Anúncios

28/03/2010 at 4:26 pm Deixe um comentário

Los Heraldos Negros

César Vallejo

Hay golpes en la vida tan fuertes… Yo no sé!
Golpes como del odio de Dios; como si ante ellos,
la resaca de todo lo sufrido
se empozara en el alma… Yo no sé!

Son pocos, pero son… Abren zanjas oscuras
en el rostro más fiero y en el lomo más fuerte.
Serán tal vez los potros de bárbaros atilas;
o los heraldos negros que nos manda la Muerte.

Son las caídas hondas de los Cristos del alma,
de alguna fe adorable que el Destino blasfema.
Esos golpes sangrientos son las crepitaciones
de algún pan que en la puerta del horno se nos quema.

Y el hombre… Pobre… pobre! Vuelve los ojos, como
cuando por sobre el hombro nos Ilama una palmada;
vuelve los ojos locos, y todo lo vivido
se empoza, como charco de culpa, en la mirada.

Hay golpes en la vida, tan fuertes… Yo no sé!

02/03/2010 at 5:18 am Deixe um comentário


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