Eu passei o sábado ouvindo Cream enquanto trabalhava, sem saber que Jack Bruce, um dos baixistas, cantores e compositores mais importantes da história do música popular contemporânea tinha falecido naquele mesmo dia. In the white room with black curtains near the station. Black-roof country, no gold pavements, tired starlings. Silver horses run down moonbeams in your dark eyes. Dawn-light smiles on you leaving, my contentment. Ill wait in this place where the sun never shines, Wait in this place where the shadows run from themselves. You said no strings could secure you at the station. Platform ticket, restless diesels, goodbye windows. I walked into such a sad time at the station. As I walked out, felt my own need just beginning. Ill wait in the queue when the trains come back, Lie with you where the shadows run from themselves. At the party she was kindness in the hard crowd. Consolation for the old wound now forgotten. Yellow tigers crouched in jungles in her dark eyes. Shes just dressing, goodbye windows, tired starlings. Ill sleep in this place with the lonely crowd; Lie in the dark where the shadows run from themselves
Posted on: Mon, 27 Oct 2014 12:38:08 +0000
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