Archivo de la etiqueta: cançó


Un homo sapiens
se grata es cap
collint conills
i en una el·lipsi excepcional
som homo sapiens a sa ràdio
es nou conveni patronal

I s’Arxiduc Lluís Salvador
cercant estels a sota terra
i quanta, quanta, quanta guerra

quin desbarat, tots aquests morts

Duc s’Arxiduc a Formentor
seu tot solet davall d’un pi
i un poc poruc
s’hi fa un selfie acollonant

I ara un poeta
amb sa llibreta
va deixonant tot lo que troba
i diu que estima móns ingràvids i gentils
com bimbolles de sabó

és molt pesat

I un matemàtic alemany
molt animat
du calçons curts i una casaca
ornamental de colorins
de domador o d’elefants o de dofins
que quan van gats
jauen plegats ben apretats dalt sa figuera

Me sap molt greu, diu es senyor, perquè a s’hotel
ja no mos queda ni una trista habitació
per fumadors

I duc s’agenda
aferrada pels calçons
però els amics
m’hi van caient

quin desbarat
quin maldecap professional
quina tristor

Tots es poetes
van a cavall
amunt i avall
menjant baladres

quins animals

i per mor d’ells
no llegiré
Incerta glòria

són escòria

quin desbarat

Motorcycle Nitemare

You used to walk so proudly
You said: — “I got two legs, I‘m Tomàs,
I can dance and jump and run,
I can even kick your ass

Behold my expensive shoes”.
Well, my dearest friend Tomàs,
Where’s that self-confidence now
With — your leg broken like cheap glass?

You were cursed at the moment
You began to write for money,
Doesn’t matter, you were born
With the curse of being funny.

That — night you crashed with your scooter
You ended up on the floor,
You clinched your fist and screamed
“Ain’t gonna happen no more”.

You worked on a TV station
in a famous late-night show
but no one cared about you,
And nobody let you grow.

Yeah, you were born with a gift,
You wake up before the sunrise
Sky is dark and you were born
in a little clown disguise.

Everyone wants to be taller
than the one that is behind,
They bury your name deeper
And they try to make you blind.

Then some God with sense of humor
Granted you a pair of twins
And then a few years later
Made you pay for all your sins

Well you were born with a gift
You’re a drinker and a smoker
But above all you were touched
With the gift of being a joker

Now, your gift isn’t your burden?
You wear a laughing crown
Everybody is staring there
Watching how you drown.

It’s so hard to be amusing
Being alive is just one blink
And you focus on keep swimming
So don’t have much time to think

You say yes to those silly jobs,
you don’t think twice, I believe,
And no one can’t see you were born
with the gift of grief.

Everybody is shouting
“Hey, look out, here comes Tomàs
And they point at you with their rifles:
“You got to dance for us”.

With your friends, some local jerks,
For an hour you don’t feel lost
the microphone is guilty — for
Denying the Holocaust

All the idiots move their mouth
They love you more or less
But none of them can’t glimpse at all
Your gift of loneliness.

The day before your birthday
We sang in front the audience
The first and last performance — of
The Super Normal Experience

Yes — you broke your leg long time ago
And you had to stay in bed.
But I think that is your heart
what should be broken instead.

Well, you were born with a gift,
They’ll laugh at your jokes tomorrow
But in your eyes I see that you
were born with the gift of sorrow.

All the girls I Know they’re mumbling:
“He’s so handsome”, and they grin,
But — when the doctor comes to see you
You ask for some morphine.

Then you had some sleeping issues,
And a lot of friendship requests,
But nobody sleeps beside you
With her head upon your chest.

Yes I don’t know you quite well
But I swear I have no clue
Why you hide your greatest talent:
The gift of being so blue.

Visions of Modelo-303

Now it’s the end of December
Why do I feel so void?
It’s time for paying taxes
I am a self-employed
Time to go to my consultant office
She’s always there to relieve my pain
Sweet consultant lady, you’re my brain

Her profession is her religion
Her face is a tired life
She’s a mother, she’s a sister,
she’s my consultant wife
When it comes to the three-o-nine form
She’s got some crazy tricks to perform
Sweet consultant lady, you’re my eyes

I’ve been fined a lot of times
I’m a mess with the bills
Doesn’t matter what I do
Tax office is on my heels
And If I think I have no choice
She says: “Don’t worry, let’s rejoice”
Sweet consultant lady, you’re my voice

I’ve done my annual tax return
I have no time to relax
I have a demand for payment
of the Value Added Tax
I’ve got no tickets, nothing to declare
Filling out the three-o-three is her goal
Sweet consultant lady, you’re my soul