A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road
It's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone It's a sliver of glass, it is life, it's the sun It is night, it is death, it's a trap, it's a gun The oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush The knot in the wood, the song of a thrush The wood of the wind, a cliff, a fall A scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all It's the wind blowing free, it's the end of the slope It's a beam, it's a void, it's a hunch, it's a hope And the river bank talks of the waters of March It's the end of the strain, It's the joy in your heart The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone The beat of the road, a slingshot's stone A truckload of bricks in the soft morning light A shot of a gun in the dead of the night A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump, It's a girl, it's a rhyme, it's a cold, it's the mumps . The plan of the house, the body in bed And the car that got stuck, it's the mud, it's the mud A float, a drift, a flight, a wing A hawk, a quail, oh, the promise of spring And the river bank talks of the waters of March It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart (repeat) A point, a grain, a bee, a bite A blink, a buzzard, a sudden stroke of night A pin, a needle, a sting, a pain A snail, a riddle, a wasp, a stain A snake, a stick, it is John, it is Joe A fish, a flash, a silvery glow The bed of the well, the end of the line The dismay on the face, it's a loss, it's a find A spear, a spike, a point, a nail A drip, drip, drip, drop, the end of the day And the river bank talks of the waters of March It's the promise of life in your heart, in your heart (repeat) ,the end of the road,a little alone A sliver of glass, a life, the sun A knife, a death, the end of the run And the river bank talks of the waters of March It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart And the river bank talks of the waters of March It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart The waters of March, And the river bank talks of the waters of March It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart The waters of March |
A gente começa a amar
por simples curiosidade,
por ter lido num olhar
certa possibilidade.
E como, no fundo, a gente
se quer muito bem,
ama quem a ama, somente
pelo gosto igual que tem.
Depois, a gente começa
a repartir dor por dor.
E se habitua depressa
a trocar frases de amor.
E, sem pensar, vai falando
de novo as que já falou…
E então, continua amando
só porque já começou.
Paul Géraldy
(tradução de Guilherme de Almeida)
