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Friday, March 31, 2006 - ore 09:43
Getting better
(categoria: " Vita Quotidiana ")
Il macigno sta lentamente perdendo consistenza, il fischio è ancora lì. Sto tempestando il mio organismo di qualsiasi sostanza presente in natura, un attacco che Alamo al confronto era una barzelletta.
Stasera, come ormai saprete, c’è Ant al DNA. E se vengo io in queste condizioni, voi non avete proprio scuse. Ore 22 si apre, ore 23 (più o meno) si inizia. Mi raccomando.
E nonostante faccia fatica ad ascoltare, in questi giorni sto impazzendo per questo disco, clamorosa miscela di folk e acid blues, una via di mezzo tra Bright Eyes e Johhny Cash (nei testi, soprattutto):
Ed in particolare per questo pezzo:
Two Gallants - Las Cruces Jail (2006)
Well I spent last night in Las Cruces Jail.
Raining hail, born to fail.
Nobody come for to go my bail.
Sun, don’t you rise no more.
Well I shot one man on the county line.
Took his dime and I blew his mind.
Now I’m just sittin’ here doin’ time.
Sun, don’t you rise no more.
Well a restless wind is whistling through the windows in my head,
through all the scrapes that I’ve survived.
And in my hour of darkness I keep counsel with the dead,
just enough to remind me I’m alive.
Well I write to the governor for to hear my plea
but he don’t even answer me.
The judge said he’s gonna set my spirit free.
Sun, don’t you rise no more.
Gavel fell, he chose the day,
cattle tie, thirteenth of May.
But I don’t plan to go that way.
Sun, don’t you rise no more.
Goodnight my Anda-Lucia.
Don’t buy all the lies that they feed ya.
And though you’re heading slowly to some place I can’t respect,
I’ll keep you in my collection of regrets.
And that’s twenty-one fell by my gun, oh, they all fell the same.
Just need one more to match my age.
Then I’ll count my killin’ done. but I won’t deny my name:
Quickest wrist of chaparral and sage.
Now desperate times call for desperate men,
I’m just a kid but I’ll pretend my time will come but until then,
Sun, don’t you rise no more.
Well I see that gallows altar, that circle ’round the Sun.
They’re gonna hang me if I stay here, and shoot me if I run.
That jailer better watch his pride
or off my wrists these shackles slide.
Hear my restless fourty-five.
Sun, don’t you rise no more.
Goodnight my Anda-Lucia.
Don’t buy all the lies that they feed ya.
And though you’re heading slowly to some place I can’t respect,
I’ll keep you in my collection of regrets.
And down the highway, down the road, to infamy I’ll ride.
I’ll take my pardon on the run,
with a trail of death behind me and Deluvina at my side,
two silhouettes against the Sun.
Well I spent last night in Las Cruces Jail.
Raining hail, born to Fail.
Nobody come for to go my bail.
Sun, don’t you rise no more.
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