Dance Me To The End Of Love

Sólo alguien con la genialidad del poeta, novelista y catautor Leonard Cohen podría escribir una canción de amor inspirada en los campos de exterminio.

¡Sublime!

 

Leonard Cohen

Dance Me To The End Of Love
Autor: Leonard Cohen

Dance me to your beauty
with a burning violin,
dance me through the panic
‘til I’m gathered safely in.
Lift me like an olive branch
and be my homeward dove.

Dance me to the end of love,
dance me to the end of love.

Let me see your beauty
when the witnesses are gone,
let me feel you moving
like they do in Babylon;
show me, slowly, what I only
know the limits of.

Dance me to the end of love,
dance me to the end of love.

Dance me to the wedding now,
dance me on and on.
Dance me very tenderly
and dance me very long.
We’re both of us beneath our love,
we’re both of us above.

Dance me to the end of love,
dance me to the end of love.

Dance me to the children
who are asking to be born,
dance me through the curtains
that our kisses have outworn;
raise a tent of shelter now,
though every thread is torn.

Dance me to the end of love,
dance me to the end of love.

Dance me to your beauty
with a burning violin,
dance me through the panic
till I’m gathered safely in;
touch me with your naked hand
or touch me with your glove.

Dance me to the end of love,
dance me to the end of love.

Dance me to the end of love.

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El 7 de Septiembre

Parece mentira
que despues de tanto tiempo,
rotos nuestros lazos,
sigamos manteniendo la ilusión
en nuestro aniversario.

La misma mesita
que nos ha visto amarrar
las manos por debajo
cuida que el rincón de siempre
permanezca reservado.

Y aunque la historia se acabó
hay algo vivo en este amor;
que aunque empeñados en soplar,
hay llamas que ni con el mar

Las flores de mayo
poco a poco cederán
a las patas de gallo
y nos buscaremos con lo ojos
por si queda algo.

El siete de septiembre
es nuestro aniversario,
y no sabremos si besarnos
en la cara o en los labios.

Y aunque la historia se acabó
hay algo vivo en este amor;
que aunque empeñados en soplar,
hay llamas que ni con el mar.

El siete de septiembre.

-Nacho Cano-

Thriller

Carlos is… The Thriller!

Carlos is… The Thriller!

Darkness falls across the land,
the midnite hour is close at hand.
Creatures crawl in search of blood
to terrorize yawls neighbourhood;
and whosoever shall be found,
without the soul for getting down,
must stand and face the hounds of hell
and rot inside a corpses shell. 

The foulest stench is in the air,
the funk of forty thousand years.
And grizzy ghouls from every tomb
are closing in to seal your doom;
and though you fight to stay alive,
your body starts to shiver,
for no mere mortal can resist
the evil of the thriller!

ThrillerRod Temperton