Резултати претраге

I Want a House

I want a house, I want it beautiful
Full of as much light as a star
Full of sun and good fortune
And the moon will shine over the roof
Full of laughter, full of cries
House, I dream of you, I dream of you so often
Diridindindin, Diridindin…
 
I want a house for lots of people
I want it solid and cozy
Robust and warm, simple and true
To fill it with music morning and night
And poetry will have a bed there
I want to work under that roof
Diridindindin, Diridindin...
 
I want every house that’s built
And then no one will sleep in the street
Like a begging dog
Because it no longer has a place to go
Like an animal which is spat upon
And nobody but nobody ever helps him
Diridindindin, Diridindin...
 
I want a house for children
who don’t know where meet up anymore
and for the old folks, spacious houses
where they can live with their relatives
inexpensive houses, for families
where sons and daughters are born
Diridindindin, Diridindin..
 

For Sergio

Because the wind
no longer tousles your hair
for your beautiful eyes
For you, my friend, I will sing.
 
For your days cut short
right in the midst of life
for your unborn children
for you, Friend, I will sing
 
I will sing...I will sing… I will sing
although my throat constricts
with pain I will sing
because a song is a caress
and with my voice… I’ll caress you.
 
For your happy banter
for your pale complexion
with my simple voice
for you, friend, I will sing.
 
For the sun which has approached
the sun which was also mine
but the Phantom of the Opera
was an assassin.
 
I will sing...I will sing… I will sing
although my throat
constricts with pain I will sing
because a song is a caress
And with my voice… I'll caress you.
 
Against those blind hands
against that black bomb
which has stripped the plump vine
of the hope of spring
 
I will sing...I will sing… I will sing
 

Petrodollars

I have aces in my sights that jinx on me
My carcass missing of their registers and their cadaster
My face framed in their lists and their basements
The genetic code that betrays each time I move
Under absurd links on the front page, I'm decked out
To explain the origins of my sequelaes
I have the right to my lighter and my cultural essence
The rest is readable and the muzzles are following
Between the wound and the acid, and the pile of missives
The lucidity's winning but doesn't prevent the drifts
The carrot, the horsewhip guarantee the offensive