Imatge: Blue hand, by Loungerie (a Flick'r)
Avui us salut amb paraules manllevades. Una cançó que encara sona amb tota la seva força, quaranta anys després. Esper que us agradi i que us pugui transmetre alguna cosa.
Una abraçada.
LATHER
(Grace Slick, Jefferson Airplane, Crown of creation)
Lather was thirty years old today,
They took away all of his toys.
His mother sent newspaper clippings to him,
About his old friends who had stopped being boys.
There was Howard C. Green, just turned thirty-three,
His leather chair waits at the bank.
And Sergeant Dow Jones, twenty-seven years old,
Commanding his very own tank.
But Lather still finds it a nice thing to do,
To lie about nude in the sand,
Drawing pictures of mountains that look like bumps
And thrashing the air with his hands.
But wait, oh Lather's productive you know,
He produces the finest of sound,
Putting drumsticks on either side of his nose,
Snorting the best licks in town,
But that's all over...
Lather was thirty years old today
And lather came foam from his tongue.
He looked at me, eyes wide, and plainly say,
"Is it true that I'm no longer young?"
And the children call him famous,
What the old men call insane.
And sometimes, he's so nameless,
That he hardly knows what game to play,
Which words to say.
And I should have told him, 'No, you're not old.'
And I should have let him go on...smiling...babywide.
3 comentaris:
tú no ets vell... què són 36 anys? (són 36,no?) tú ets una ànima jove, de veres. jo, que som una nina de 21, em sento en igualtat de condicions quan parlam. No és per prendre-ho malament, sinò tot lo contrari. És molt difícil mantenir la joventut de l'esperit en aquests temps que corren...
Una abraçada forta.
M.
I jo crec que vas de catxondo i en el fons ets més profund que els profunds colors del tal i del qual.
L'anterior era de na Macarena...
Fdo:
Little Chal.ly
Feedin' Our Heads
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