diumenge, 20 de març del 2011

un març Dylan ...

Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, where have you been, my darling young one?
I’ve stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I’ve walked and I’ve crawled on six crooked highways
I’ve stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I’ve been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I’ve been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard
and it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
and it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall

Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin’
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin’
I saw a white ladder all covered with water
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children
and it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
and it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall

and what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
and what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin’
Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world
Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin’
Heard ten thousand whisperin’ and nobody listenin’
Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin’
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley
and it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
and it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall

Who did you meet, my blue-eyed son?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony
I met a white man who walked a black dog
I met a young woman whose body was burning
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow
I met one man who was wounded in love
I met another man who was wounded with hatred
and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall

Oh, what’ll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what’ll you do now, my darling young one?
I’m a-goin’ back out ’fore the rain starts a-fallin’
I’ll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison
Where the executioner’s face is always well hidden
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten
Where black is the color, where none is the number
and I’ll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it
and reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it
Then I’ll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin’
But I’ll know my song well before I start singin’
and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall

4 ventades ...:

  1. Com que a mi Dylan me la porta una mica fluixa, dir-te que t'han quedat macos els canvis aplicats, capçalera i col·lecció de fotos primaverals, lletra molt maca, nova frase... vaja, si sembla que se't posa bé la primavera i tot. On anirem a parar.

    Però la propera vegada no tanquis el blog per aplicar els canvis, animalet, o és que ens vols fer agafar un cobriment de cor?

    ResponElimina
  2. Doncs jo no puc escoltar ni en Dylan ni cap que hagi enllaçat amb el grooveshark... en fi.
    És que m'agrada la primavera Xexu, passa que se'm posa malament.

    Va, va, tot plegat només te n'has adonat tu i no ha sigut res, un espant petit però superable. Encara que no hagués tornat a obrir.
    No em siguis exagerat, va.

    ResponElimina
  3. Jo hi he entrat al matí i ara. I he sortit pensant-me que m´havia equivocat - és conya, no ho he fet -.
    El canvi és una mica neohipie, bé, no, neofolk, tipus cantants barbuts que tant t´agraden a tú.

    Està molt bé, un prodigi de tècnica. La rotulació és la idea de vent,la foto - teva - és apoteòsica, mai arribaré a res igual.

    El Dylan...t´havia de dir algo, si surt el Dylan.

    ResponElimina
  4. Ai sí, se me n'ha anat molt l'olla Estranger, ho sé... a mi em costa assimilar que sóc a nòmades també, però mira, m'he engrescat de mala manera i n'ha sortit això, aviam si m'hi acostumo o ho acabo treient...
    Tinc un amic que sempre em diu que tinc un aire hippie, però ja pots comptar!
    Un dia vaig fer una llista dels meus cantants-debilitats i són tots peluts! com vaig riure!
    Una mica de photoshop, unes lletres que ja venien fetes i una foto rescatada d'alguna primavera passada. És fàcil fer-la, només calen gallarets, creu-me.
    En Dylan... hauré de deixar-lo reposar una mica, em sembla que somio amb les seves cançons!
    Com és que no hem tingut mai un Dylan català?

    ResponElimina