Certos gajos não conseguem perpetuar a vida sem ter alguém, e o mesmo alguém, na cama todas as noites.
Pode ser outro alguém novo, ou até um alguém que vá sendo vários alguéns de ano para ano, mas certos gajos fenecem e acabam por deixar a mesa de jogo quando não têm alguém na casa, que é onde fica a cama, todas as noites.
Um dia ouve-se o Tim Booth cantar as pastagens azuis pela enésima vez e o poema certo ocorre, trocando uma porta por outra.
As diferenças, então, residirão naquilo em que sempre residiram: na elegância e no método.
Blue pastures – fade away
Green rivers in silver light
I’m walking to the sound of distant bells
So peaceful I don’t know who I am
And just when I think its clear, it turns all grey again
And I wonder who will find me in the snow
And just when I thought I was free I got pulled in again
Once you’re in, you’re in.
Green rivers in silver light
I’m walking to the sound of distant bells
So peaceful I don’t know who I am
And just when I think its clear, it turns all grey again
And I wonder who will find me in the snow
And just when I thought I was free I got pulled in again
Once you’re in, you’re in.
Blue pastures calling home
I’m walking but I can’t stand anymore
Hear voices can’t tell near or far
Weird voices – lay me down
And I don’t see why I’m obliged to just carry on
When everything I touch turns out wrong
And I feel I’ve committed some crime – but I don’t know what I’ve done
I’m walking but I can’t stand anymore
Hear voices can’t tell near or far
Weird voices – lay me down
And I don’t see why I’m obliged to just carry on
When everything I touch turns out wrong
And I feel I’ve committed some crime – but I don’t know what I’ve done
One day life just wins
One day life just wins
One day life just wins
Still breathing but I’m tired and I wanna go home
Still breathing but i’m not sure anymore
Still breathing But it doesn’t really matter if I fade away.
Fall into this sleep – fall into the deep.