Domingos

Ooh! Get me away from here I'm dying
Play me a song to set me free
Nobody writes them like they used to
So it may as well be me
Here on my own now after hours
Here on my own now on a bus
Think of it this way
You could either be successful or be us
With our winning smiles, and us
With our catchy tunes, and us
Now we're photogenic
You know, we don't stand a chance

Oh, I'll settle down with some old story
About a boy who's just like me
Thought there was love in everything and everyone
You're so naive!
They always reach a sorry ending
They always get it in the end.
Still it was worth it as I turned the pages solemnly, and then
With a winning smile, the boy
With naivety succeeds
At the final moment, I cried
I always cry at endings

Oh, that wasn't what I meant to say at all
From where I'm sitting, rain
Washing against the lonely tenement
Has set my mind to wander
Into the windows of my lovers
They never know unless I write
"This is no declaration, I just thought I'd let you know goodbye"
Said the hero in the story
"It is mightier than swords
I could kill you sure
But I could only make you cry with these words"


Às vezes, ela acorda com umas músicas esquistas na cabeça, principalmente depois de longas caminhadas noturnas e chás que toma sentada na janela. Nessas manhãs, costuma tomar café - mas com leite - ler o horóscopo, pegar a bolsa e sair andando, andando... rumo a algum lugar, talvez uma feira de antiguidades, cartazes franceses, dados e baralhos usados, ou uma exposição de fotografias, panoramas do Corcovado, vistas do Pão de Açúcar, construção da estrada de ferro Curitiba-Paranaguá e araucárias no Paraná - curioso, não? Mas, nesses dias, ela ignora os sinais, as canções que tocam enquanto escolhe revistas (Ain't no sunshine when she's gone de novo não...), o tempo quente, nunca chove. Aí um telefonema, um jantar, algumas risadas de verdade. E outra noite. You know, I always cry at endings...