dimecres, 31 de juliol del 2019

"OPEN UP YOUR DOOR"
RICHARD HAWLEY 



Open up your door
I can't see your face no more
Love is so hard to find
And even harder to define

Oh, open up your door
Cos we've time to give
And I'm feeling it so much more
Open up the door
Open up your door

Open up the door
I can't hear your voice no more
I just want to make you smile
Maybe stay with you awhile

Oh, open up your door
Cos we've time to give
And my feelings aren't so obscure
Open up the door
Open up your door

So open up the door
Cos we've time to give
And I'm feeling it so much more
Open up your door
Oh, open up your door

Love is so hard to find
And even harder to define

Oh, open up your door
And I've never been so sure
Oh, open up your door
Open up your door

divendres, 19 de juliol del 2019

"SEAWEED"
TINDERSTICKS 



Would you prefer a stone
That I chose for you?
That lay on a beach
Was just a sea of stone
Wasn't meant for you
Jumped into my eyes
Choice of millions
Would you prefer a stone
From your window?
It walks through the streets
Feeling young and tense
The city had to swallow mine for you
'cos it's so much strain
Choice of only a few

Would you prefer a look
That was contrived?
Or a look that says how I ( ? ) with you?
I have no plans in my mind
Just kind of go
Go with you

A hello or a goodbye?
My mind is something I don't know
The truth, why should I lie?
Just kind of go
Go with you
"MY SISTER"
TINDERSTICKS 



Do you remember my sister?
How many mistakes did she make with those never blinking eyes?
I couldn't work it out.
I swear she could read your mind,
Your life, the depths of your soul at one glance.
Maybe she was stripping herself
Away, saying

Here I am, this is me
I am yours and everything about me, everything you see,
If only you look hard enough
I never could.

Our life was a pillow-fight.
We'd stand there on the quilt,
Our hands clenched ready.
Her with her milky teeth,
So late for her age,
And a Stanley knife in her hand.
She sliced the tires on my bike and I couldn't forgive her.

She went blind at the age of five.
We'd stand at the bedroom window and she'd
Get me to tell her what I saw.
I'd describe the houses opposite, the little
Patch of grass next to the path,
The gate with its rotten hinges forever wedged
Open that Dad was always going to fix.
She'd stand there quiet for a moment.
I thought she was trying to develop the images in her own head.
Then she'd say

I can see little twinkly stars,
Like Christmas tree lights in faraway windows.
Rings of brightly colored rocks
Floating around orange and mustard planets.
I can see huge tiger striped fishes
Chasing tiny blue and yellow dashes,
All tails and fins and bubbles.
I'd look at the gray house opposite, and close the curtains.
She burned down the house when she was ten.
I was away camping with the scouts.
The fireman said she'd been smoking in bed
The old story, I thought.
The cat and our mum died in the flames,
So Dad took us to stay with our Aunt in the country.
He went back to London to find us a new house.
We never saw him again.

On her thirteenth birthday she fell down the well in our
Aunt's garden and broke her head.
She'd been drinking heavily.
On her recovery her sight
Returned, a fluke of nature everyone said.
That's when she said she'd never blink again.
I would tell her when she started at me,
With her eyes wide and watery,
That they reminded me of the well she fell into.
She liked this, it made her laugh.

She moved in with a gym teacher when she was fifteen,
All muscles he was.
He lost his job when it all came out,
And couldn't get another one.
Not in that kind of small town.
Everybody knew everyone else's business.
My sister would hold her head high, though.
She said she was in love.
They were together for five years until one day he lost his temper.
He hit over the back of the neck with his bullworker.
She lost the use of the right side of her body.
He got three years and was out in fifteen months.
We saw him a while later,
He was coaching a non-league football team in a Cornwall seaside town.
I don't think he recognized her.
My sister had put on a lot of weight from being in a chair all the time.
She'd get me to stick pins
And stub out cigarettes in her right
Hand. She'd laugh like mad
Because it didn't hurt.
Her left hand was pretty
Good though. We'd have arm wrestling matches,
I'd have to use both arms and
She'd still beat me.

We buried her when she was 32.
Me and my Aunt, the vicar, and the man who dug the hole.
She said she didn't want to be cremated
And wanted a cheap coffin so the worms could get to her quickly.
She said she liked the idea of it,
Though I thought it was because of what happened to the cat, and our mum.
"RAINDROPS"
TINDERSTICKS 



Silence is here again tonight
The silence is here again tonight
Will the love ever come back?
Will the love ever come back?
I know I've been pushing you away
I know it's been going on for days
Those awkward little things
So endearing
Those awkward little things
Wear on me

See, what we got here is a tired love
What we got here is a lazy love
It mooches around the house
Can't wait to go out
What it needs it just grabs
It never asks
We sit and watch the divide widen
We sit and listen to our hearts crumble
With our only chance to jump
Neither of us had the guts
Or maybe we're just too proud
To say it out loud

Silence is here again tonight
Silence is here again tonight

dilluns, 15 de juliol del 2019

"WHAT ARE TOU FIGHTING FOR?"
TINDERSTICKS




What are you fighting for
It ain't nothing you ain't had before
It ain't nothing , you ain't felt before
And still you cry
Is there nothing new
Is there nothing to inspire you
So you found that all your dreams came true
And still you cry
Time is around now
Can't you get back what your blossom had
Can't you round up all those memories
And tell them to breathe
There is a future coming up behind
And I can feel it but I don't know where it's coming from
And I can hold it but I; I cannot see its face
And time is out of my hand

"LOS JUSTOS"
JORGE LUIS BORGES



Un hombre que cultiva un jardín, como quería Voltaire.
El que agradece que en la tierra haya música.
El que descubre con placer una etimología.
Dos empleados que en un café del Sur juegan un silencioso ajedrez.
El ceramista que premedita un color y una forma.
Un tipógrafo que compone bien esta página, que tal vez no le agrada
Una mujer y un hombre que leen los tercetos finales de cierto canto.
El que acaricia a un animal dormido.
El que justifica o quiere justificar un mal que le han hecho.
El que agradece que en la tierra haya Stevenson.
El que prefiere que los otros tengan razón.
Esas personas, que se ignoran, están salvando el mundo.




dissabte, 13 de juliol del 2019

"SONGS OF THE ETERNAL"
TUNDE JEGEDE & DEREK GRIPPER




divendres, 12 de juliol del 2019

"GREEN ONIONS"
BOOKER T. & THE MG's 



divendres, 5 de juliol del 2019

"WALTZ FOR LUMUMBA"
THE SPENCER DAVIS GROUP 


 

dimecres, 3 de juliol del 2019

"THE IRISH WARS OF INDEPENDENCE"
JAMES YORKSTON