Podría venir a cuento de una conversación muy "boquillera" entre Little Star y yo, acerca de cómo parece que nos obsesionamos por hacer planes y después no vivimos el presente con intensidad. O, como diría John Lennon, "la vida es lo que pasa contigo mientras estás ocupado haciendo otros planes".
Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an off hand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way
Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun
And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but its sinking
And racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in the relative way, but youre older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death
Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the english way
The time is gone, the song is over, thought Id something more to say
Home, home again
I like to be here when I can
And when I come home cold and tired
Its good to warm my bones beside the fire
Far away across the field
The tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spells.
You fritter and waste the hours in an off hand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way
Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun
And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but its sinking
And racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in the relative way, but youre older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death
Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the english way
The time is gone, the song is over, thought Id something more to say
Home, home again
I like to be here when I can
And when I come home cold and tired
Its good to warm my bones beside the fire
Far away across the field
The tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spells.
Me encanta el blog, ya ves lo que da de sí los gatos jeje
ResponderEliminarun besazo enorme pequeños!!!
Me ha encantado la frase de Lennon, Bell, quiero decir, Lucy in the sky ;)
ResponderEliminarLa canción es muy buena. Me quedo con el segundo párrafo.
Todo este tema de tener prisas por vivir me recuerda a una frase de una tarjeta que le compré a un filósofo que vendía en las Ramblas de Barcelona.
... por llegar tarde rápido a todas partes, no llegamos felices a ninguna.
E. J. Malinowski
La tengo dedicada en el cabecero de la cama, para, a ver, si con suerte, me aplico el cuento de vez en cuando.
Qué bohemia eres, estelilla...
ResponderEliminarOut on the ocean sailing away,
ResponderEliminarI can harldy wait
to see you to come of age,
But I guess we'll both
just have to be patient,
Yes it's a long way to go
But in the meantime,
before you cross the street,
take my hand,
Life is just what happens to you,
while you're busy making other plans,
Beautiful,
Beautiful, beautiful,
Beautiful boy,
Darling,
Darling,
Darling Sean.
:)