::23.11.03::
GREEN LIGHT, SEVEN ELEVEN
Esqueci de cantar essa aqui, hoje. Na verdade eu cantei há dois dias atrás, quando finalmente voltei sozinha pela Niemeyer. Am I?
Ontem mesmo falei com Rodrigo: eu queria mesmo era SER o Mick Jagger.
Hard Woman
Mick Jagger
She’s a hard woman to please
And I thought about letting her know
She’s a hard lady to leave
And I thought about letting her go
She’s a tough lady to leave
But, I thought about it
She’s a hard lady to please, yes she is
I gave her laughter, she wanted diamonds
I was romantic, she treated my cruelly
Where is the mercy, where is the love?
You see, passion has a funny way
Of burning down and running low
And suddenly it goes out
And you wonder where does it go
She’s a hard woman to please
I’ve thought about letting her know
She’s a hard lady to leave, yes she is
I gave her laughter, she wanted diamonds
She was unfaithful, treated me cruelly
Where is the mercy, where is the love?
I’m alone at last; something inside of me knows
I could have loved in vain
For a thousand years
I have to let her go
I’ve got to let her go
I’ve got to say goodbye
How can I say goodbye to my baby?
She’s a tough cookie, hard lady
I’ve got to say goodbye
Alone at last and something inside of me knows
I could have loved in vain for a thousand years
I have to let her go
And time goes so fast and new love starts so slow
I could have loved in wain for a thousand years
I have to let her go
I’ve got to let her go
I’ve got to say goodbye
Hard woman to please, yes you are
Hard woman,tough lady,
I’ve got to, I’ve got to say goodbye.
How can I say goodbye to my baby?
How can I say goodbye to my baby?
So long honey.
:: Marcia Furriel 4:28 p.m.
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"...[R]eturning to the Red Drum for sets, to hear Bird, whom I saw distinctly digging Mardou several times also myself directly into my eye looking to search if I was really the great writer I thought myself to be as if he knew my thoughts and ambitions or remembered me from other night clubs and other coasts, other Chicagos--not a challenging look but the king and founder of the bop generation at least the sound of it in digging his audience digging his eyes, the secret eyes him-watching, as he just pursed his lips and let great lungs and immortal fingers work, his eyes separate and interested and humane, the kindest jazz musician there could be while being and therefore naturally the greatest--watching Mardou and me in the infancy of our love and probably wondering why, or knowing it wouldn't last, or seeing who it was would be hurt, as now, obviously, but not quite yet, it was Mardou whose eyes were shining in my direction, though I could not have known and now do not definitely know--except the one fact, on the way home, the session over the beer in the Mask drunk we went home on the Third Street bus sadly through night and throb knock neons and when I suddenly leaned over her to shout something further (in her secret self as later confessed) her heart leapt to smell the "sweetness of my breath" (quote) and suddenly she almost loved me--"
DO LIVRO
The Subterraneans
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