Arquivo da categoria: Música e Poesia

Antes que seja tarde


Não precisa concordar comigo
Eu gosto de um embate
Mas precisa olhar pro outro com compaixão
Antes que seja tarde.

Não precisa gostar de Chico
Eu gosto de Pearl Jam
Mas precisa olhar pra música sem preconceito
Antes que seja tarde.

Não precisa ler poesia
Eu gosto de racionalidade
Mas precisa saber o valor de um verso
Antes que seja tarde.

Não precisa ser de esquerda
Eu gosto de contraponto
Mas precisa querer um mundo justo
Antes que seja tarde.

Não precisa ser feminista
Eu às vezes discordo delas
Mas precisa ver a mulher como igual
Antes que seja tarde.

Os opostos (nem) sempre se atraem.

A song as a gift


Crazy how it feels tonight
Crazy how you make it all alright, love
Crush me with those things you do
And I´ll do for you anything too, oh

Sitting, smoking, feeling high

And in this moment
Oh, it feels so right

Lovely lady, I am at your feet
Oh, God, I want you so badly
And I wonder this
Could tomorrow be so wonderous
As you there, sleeping?

Let’s go drive ‘till morning comes
Watch the sunrise and fill our souls up
And drink some wine ‘till we get drunk

It’s crazy I’m thinking
Just knowing that the world is round
And here I’m dancing on the ground
Am I right-side-up or upside-down?
And is this real, or am I dreaming?

Lovely lady, let me drink you, please
Won’t spill a drop, no, I promise you
Lying under this spell you cast on me
Each moment the more I love you

Crush me, come on
Oh, yeah

So much you have given, love
That I would give you back again and again
Oh, you know that I´m meaning I’ll hold you
But please, please just let me always.



A man filled with the gladness of living
Put his keys on the table,
Put flowers in a copper bowl there.
He put his eggs and milk on the table.
He put there the light that came in through the window,
Sounds of a bicycle, sound of a spinning wheel.
The softness of bread and weather he put there.
On the table the man put
Things that happened in his mind.
What he wanted to do in life,
He put that there.
Those he loved, those he didn’t love,
The man put them on the table too.
Three times three make nine:
The man put nine on the table.
He was next to the window next to the sky;
He reached out and placed on the table endlessness.
So many days he had wanted to drink a beer!
He put on the table the pouring of that beer.
He placed there his sleep and his wakefulness;
His hunger and his fullness he placed there.
Now that’s what I call a table!
It didn’t complain at all about the load.
It wobbled once or twice, then stood firm.
The man kept piling things on.

(From the Turkish of Edip Cansever)