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23 I've been staring at the sea, Waiting to see you emerge, white and stars, Every wave would be a new hope, Every storm a means to hide the tears I shamelessly cried. 23 says a lot to me, Most of it, sadly, Words of loving despair. It sings a few songs, And it looks like it hasn't sung The final one. I've been sat here, amongst the grains, Watching the waves, giving them names Of young girls, probably too pretty For I am but a soul And souls never win, these days. 23 times I've been the wind That blows over a home-baked cake, With applause and gifts and smiles, And ephemeral style, Like the time hasn't flown, Like the waves haven't grown To later die in sandy beds, Like I haven't been here all the time And only one day in the year to make me cheer. Give me 23 days to compensate These 23 years of a tricky fate. Damon Durham. Damon at 12:23 da tarde
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outras praias
where words come together as waves, blue and beautiful, dying in the whiteness, but repeating themselves like music notes, from sunrise to sunset to sunrise again. um livro: «Saudades de Nova Iorque», de Pedro Paixão. um filme: «Memento». um disco: «King of limbs», Radiohead. |