À BRUTO

Porque há muito tempo que não a ouvia.

Porque continua a ser uma das músicas que mais me arrepia.

Porque o poema não é mau.

Porque adoro este disco (e sim, diz-se "disco"!).

Porque nunca os Pink Floyd foram tão bons como aqui.

Porque tenho um fraquinho por temas épicos, logo, grandes.

Porque o gajo canta mal. Porque soa tão bem.

Porque ainda não tirei os discos dos caixotes e tenho saudades de o pôr a rodar.

Porque vou para a cama e tenho que levar alguma coisa a tocar dentro da cabeça.

(e são duas, porque para mim são 2 que não consigo ouvir separadas)

You know that I care what happens to you,
And I know that you care for me.
So I don't feel alone,
Or the weight of the stone,
Now that I've found somewhere safe
To bury my bone.
And any fool knows a dog needs a home,
A shelter from pigs on the wing.

Big man, pig man, ha ha charade you are.
You well heeled big wheel, ha ha charade you are.
And when your hand is on your heart,
You're nearly a good laugh,Almost a joker,
With your head down in the pig bin,
Saying "Keep on digging."
Pig stain on your fat chin.
What do you hope to find.
When you're down in the pig mine.
You're nearly a laugh,
You're nearly a laugh
But you're really a cry.

Bus stop rat bag, ha ha charade you are.
You fucked up old hag, ha ha charade you are.
You radiate cold shafts of broken glass.
You're nearly a good laugh,
Almost worth a quick grin.
You like the feel of steel,
You're hot stuff with a hatpin,
And good fun with a hand gun.
You're nearly a laugh,
You're nearly a laugh
But you're really a cry.

Hey you, Whitehouse,
Ha ha charade you are.
You house proud town mouse,
Ha ha charade you are
You're trying to keep our feelings off the street.
You're nearly a real treat,
All tight lips and cold feet
And do you feel abused?

You gotta stem the evil tide,
And keep it all on the inside.
Mary you're nearly a treat,
Mary you're nearly a treat
But you're really a cry.