Reclusão I: I'm an innocent victim of a blinded alley

Todos me perguntam quando assento, quando ganharei juizo.
Quando encontrar alguém que seja assim...

My love she speaks like silence,
Without ideals or violence,
She doesn't have to say she's faithful,
Yet she's true, like ice, like fire.
People carry roses,
Make promises by the hours,
My love she laughs like the flowers,
Valentines can't buy her.

In the dime stores and bus stations,
People talk of situations,
Read books, repeat quotations,
Draw conclusions on the wall.
Some speak of the future,
My love she speaks softly,
She knows there's no success like failure
And that failure's no success at all.

The cloak and dagger dangles,
Madams light the candles.
In ceremonies of the horsemen,
Even the pawn must hold a grudge.
Statues made of match sticks,
Crumble into one another,
My love winks, she does not bother,
She knows too much to argue or to judge.

The bridge at midnight trembles,
The country doctor rambles,
Bankers' nieces seek perfection,
Expecting all the gifts that wise men bring.
The wind howls like a hammer,
The night blows cold and rainy,
My love she's like some raven
At my window with a broken wing.
Copyright © 1965; renewed 1993 Special Rider Music

Bob Dylan, Bringing it all back home, 1965, o mp3 anda por aqui.

PS: Outro dia. Outro disco de Tom Waits. Outra tarde de melodias loucas e boémias. Desta vez é Tom Traubert's Blues.