Sun been down for days
A pretty flower in a vase
A slipper by the fireplace
A cello lying in its case
Soon she's down the stairs
Her morning elegance she wears
The sound of water makes her dream
Awoken by a cloud of steam
She pours a daydream in a cup
A spoon of sugar sweetens up
And she fights for her life
as she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
as it pours
And she fights for her life
as she goes in a store
with a thought she has caught
by a thread
she pays for the bread
and she goesÂ…
Nobody knows
Sun been down for days
A winter melody she plays
The thunder makes her contemplate
She hears a noise behind the gate
Perhaps a letter with a dove
Perhaps a stranger she could love
And she fights for her life
as she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
as it pours
And she fights for her life
as she goes in a store
with a thought she has caught
by a thread
she pays for the bread
and she goesÂ…
Nobody knows
And she fights for her life
as she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
as it pours
And she fights for her life
as she goes in a store
where the people are pleasantly
strange
and counting the
change
as she goes…
Nobody knows
O gato e o escuro Mia Couto Vejam, meus filhos, o gatinho preto, sentado no cimo desta história. Pois ele nem sempre foi dessa cor. Conta a mãe dele que, antes, tinha sido amarelo, às malhas e às pintas. Todos lhe chamavam o Pintalgato. Diz-se que ficou desta aparência, em totalidade negra, por motivo de um susto. Vou aqui contar como aconteceu essa trespassagem de claro para escuro. O caso, vos digo, não é nada claro. Aconteceu assim: o gatinho gostava de passear-se nessa linha onde o dia faz fronteira com a noite. Faz de conta o pôr do Sol fosse um muro. Faz mais de conta ainda os pés felpudos pisassem o poente. A mãe se afligia e pedia: - Nunca atravesse a luz para o lado de lá. Essa era a aflição dela, que o seu menino passasse além do pôr de algum Sol. O filho dizia que sim, acenava consentindo. Mas fingia obediência. Porque o Pintalgato chegava ao poente e espreitava o lado de lá. Namoriscando o proibido, seus olhos pirilampiscavam. Ce...
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