Não temos heróis nem jamais os tivemos. Afinal, para que servem os heróis? E suas estátuas de granito ou de mármore negro, seus cavalos de bronze, suas medalhas barrocas e as espadas que não passam de metáforas? Para que servem os heróis, se o ácido da chuva desdenha da glória dos homens e nem os pássaros se importam com eles? Para que servem os heróis, se nem sabem quem somos nem jamais ouviram falar dos nossos mitos e utopias?
(francisco carvalho)
quinta-feira, 18 de outubro de 2007
::: uma música :::
Well, they blew up the chicken man in philly last night
Now, they blew up his house, too
Down on the boardwalk theyre gettin ready for a fight
Gonna see what them racket boys can do
Now, theres trouble bustin in from outta state
And the d.a. cant get no relief
Gonna be a rumble out on the promenade
And the gamblin commissions hangin on by the skin of his teeth
Well now, evrything dies, baby, thats a fact
But maybe evrything that dies someday comes back
Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty
And meet me tonight in atlantic city
Well, I got a job and tried to put my money away
But I got debts that no honest man can pay
So I drew what I had from the central trust
And I bought us two tickets on that coast city bus
Now, baby, evrything dies, honey, thats a fact...
Now our luck may have died and our love may be cold
But with you forever Ill stay
Were goin out where the sands turnin to gold
Put on your stockins baby, `cause the nights getting cold
And maybe evrything dies, baby, thats a fact
But maybe evrything that dies someday comes back
Now, I been lookin for a job, but its hard to find
Down here its just winners and losers and dont
Get caught on the wrong side of that line
Well, Im tired of comin out on the losin end
So, honey, last night I met this guy and Im gonna
Do a little favor for him
Well, I guess everything dies, baby, thats a fact...
Now, they blew up his house, too
Down on the boardwalk theyre gettin ready for a fight
Gonna see what them racket boys can do
Now, theres trouble bustin in from outta state
And the d.a. cant get no relief
Gonna be a rumble out on the promenade
And the gamblin commissions hangin on by the skin of his teeth
Well now, evrything dies, baby, thats a fact
But maybe evrything that dies someday comes back
Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty
And meet me tonight in atlantic city
Well, I got a job and tried to put my money away
But I got debts that no honest man can pay
So I drew what I had from the central trust
And I bought us two tickets on that coast city bus
Now, baby, evrything dies, honey, thats a fact...
Now our luck may have died and our love may be cold
But with you forever Ill stay
Were goin out where the sands turnin to gold
Put on your stockins baby, `cause the nights getting cold
And maybe evrything dies, baby, thats a fact
But maybe evrything that dies someday comes back
Now, I been lookin for a job, but its hard to find
Down here its just winners and losers and dont
Get caught on the wrong side of that line
Well, Im tired of comin out on the losin end
So, honey, last night I met this guy and Im gonna
Do a little favor for him
Well, I guess everything dies, baby, thats a fact...
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