Por ese algo que no está, hoy me pongo a cantar, hoy me pongo a pensar, aunque sé que a veces no es bueno recordar, que las cosas pasadas no han de regresar y que todas las cosas que hicimos son parte del viento y del tiempo: así, nada más, acerca de ti, acerca de mí...
if we love each (shyly)
other, what clouds do or Silently
Flowers resembles beauty
less than our breathing
La habitación era barata y sórdida,
oculta sobre la dudosa taberna.
Desde la ventana podías ver la sucia
y estrecha callejuela. Desde abajo
venían las voces de algunos obreros,
que jugaban a las cartas y se divertían.
Y allí, en esa pobre y usada cama
tuve el cuerpo del amor, tuve los labios
voluptuosos y rosados de la embriaguez,
rosados de tanta embriaguez
que ahora, cuando escribo, después de tantos años,
en esta casa solitaria vuelvo a estar borracho.
Mirando un ópalo casi gris
recordé unos hermosos ojos grises
que había visto hará unos veinte años...
Nos amamos un mes.
Marchó después a Esmirna, creo,
a trabajar allí y no nos vimos más.
Se habrán empañado -si vive- aquellos ojos;
ajado estará aquel rostro hermoso...
Guárdalos tú, memoria mía, como eran.
Y cuanto de mi amor puedas, memoria,
cuanto puedas, tráemelo de nuevo
esta noche.
si nuestro amor no fuera
como un hilo tendido
en que vamos los dos
sin red sobre el vacío;
si tus palabras fueran
sólo palabras para
nombrar con ellas cosas
tuyas, no más, y mías;
si no resucitaran
si no evocaran trágicas
distancias y rencores
traspuestos, olvidados;
soy, y quizá seré siempre, el del desván
aunque no viva en él;
seré siempre el que no nació para eso;
seré siempre el que tenía cualidades;
seré siempre el que esperó que le abriesen la puerta junto una pared sin puerta
y cantó la canción del Infinito en un gallinero,
y oyó la voz de Dios en un pozo tapado.
¿Creer en mí? No, ni en nada.
Shyness is nice and shyness can stop you from doing all the things in life you'd like to. So, if there's something you'd like to try, if there's something you'd like to try, ask me, I won't say no: how could I? Spending warm Summer days indoors, writing frightening verse to a bucktoothed girl in Luxembourg: ask me, ask me, ask me, ask me, ask me, ask me because if it's not Love, then it's the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb that will bring us together
Girlfriend in a coma: I know, I know - it’s serious, it’s really serious. There were times when I could have “strangled” her... but, you know: I would hate anything to happen to her. Would you please let me see her! Do you really think she pull through...?
I started something, I forced you to a zone and you were clearly never meant to go. Hair brushed and parted: typical me, typical me, typical me... I started something... and now I'm not too sure.
Last night I dreamt that somebody loved me. No hope, but no harm: just another false alarm. So, tell me how long before the last one? And tell me how long before the right one ? The story is old – I know, But it goes on… Ah, goes on…
I am the son and the heir of a shyness that is criminally vulgar, I am the son and the heir of nothing in particular... You shut your mouth, how can you say I go about things the wrong way? I am Human and I need to be loved just like everybody else does.
Is it wrong not to always be glad? No, it's not wrong - but I must add: how can someone so young sing words so sad? Sheila takes a, Sheila takes a bow, oot the grime of this world in the crotch, dear, and don't go home tonight: come out and find the one that you love and who loves you, the one that you love and who loves you...
Hand in glove, the sun shines out of our behinds... No, it's not like any other love: this one is different - because it's us...
Oh, the devil will find work for idle hands to do. I stole, and then I lied just because you asked me to. But now you know the truth about me, you won't see me anymore... Well, I'm still fond of you. So, what difference does it make? Oh, what difference does it make? Oh, it makes none: but now you have gone and your prejudice won't keep you warm tonight!
I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour, but heaven knows I'm miserable now. I was looking for a job, and then I found a job, and heaven knows I'm miserable now. What she asked of me at the end of the day, Caligula would have blushed. “You've been in the house too long”, she said, and I (naturally) fled. In my life, why do I smile at people who I'd much rather kick in the eye?
We didn't have no where to live, we didn't have nowhere to go, 'til someone said: “I know this place off Burditt Road”. It was on the fifteenth floor, it had a board across the door. It took an hour to pry it off and get inside. It smelt as if someone had died; the living-room was full of flies; the kitchen sink was blocked, the bathroom sink not there at all. Ooh, it's a mess alright, yes: it's Mile End.
And now we're living in the sky! I'd never thought I'd live so high: just like Heaven (if it didn't look like Hell.) The lift is always full of piss, the fifth floor landing smells of fish (not just on Friday, every single other day.) Below the kids come out tonight, they kick a ball and have a fight and maybe shoot somebody if they lose at pool. Ooh, it's a mess alright, yes: it's Mile End.
(you love it...)
Nobody wants to be your friend 'cause you're not from round here, ooh as if that was something to be proud about. The pearly king of the Isle of Dogs feels up children in the bogs. Down by the playing fields, someone sets a car on fire. I guess you have to go right down before you understand just how, how low, how low a human being can go. Ooh, it's a mess alright, yes: it's Mile End.
Come crawling faster: obey your master. Your life burns faster: obey your master, mater. Master of puppets, I'm pulling your strings, twisting your mind and smashing your dreams; blinded by me, you can't see a thing: just call my nam-e cause I'll hear you scream.
Si volviera el amor, si tuviera un hermano, un amigo, un sueño a la mano, moriría ese dolor de buscar el calor en el cruel laberinto de este vaso de alcohol, de estas calles sin sol.
Si tuviera ilusiones, si existieran razones, locuras, mentiras, pasiones, no habría necesidad de pasarme por horas bebiendo cantimploras de esta gris soledad, de esta eterna ansiedad.
Si pudiera borrarme esos viejos recuerdos que, como viles cuervos, arrancan ya mis ojos, dejando mis despojos entre historias hirientes, igual de indiferentes al amor y a las gentes.
Si te hubieras quedado, si me hubieras pedido que quemara el sonido de se viejo pasado, no estaría aquí, metido, ahogando mis entrañas, arañando el olvido, tan confuso y perdido.
Cuando tenga la suerte de encontrar a la muerte, yo le voy a ofrecer todo el tiempo vivido y este vaso henchido por un distante instante, un instante de olvido.
Cuando ella llegó, discutieron y —según el expediente— la adolescente, quien tenía abrazada a su hija, la dejó caer al piso, sobre un cobertor. Cristo arremetió entonces contra la pequeña: se le echó encima golpeándola con la rodilla, y le lesionó en varias ocasiones en la cabeza con uno de sus zapatos, el cual tenía casquillo de metal en la punta. La joven también golpeó a su niña con los puños, pues le molestó que la pequeña siguiera llorando.
