O meu preferido

É como se a fase dos cantores e as bandas preferidas tivesse passado, desaparecido. Já não sei dizer o que é que eu oiço ou de quem é que gosto mais quando me perguntam.

Mas secretamente, sei que o Matt Elliot tem sido o meu cantor preferido. Eu gosto muito da músicas, gosto dos arranjos, das letras. Gosto acima de tudo da voz tão serena e limpa, que vai ao fundo dele, escava, e é com doçura que traz um arauto de tragédia. Assim é The Calm Before, o álbum lançado esta semana. Aqui vai uma música. Sobre a calmaria antes da tempestade.

Here comes a storm
The dust & papers dance around the room
It tells of a storm
The sky is a painted viscous swirl of troubled hues
There’s a storm
The branches rock & dance & creak & wave
We’re in for a storm
I’ve got this headache that I’ve had for days
Here comes the rain
The first few drops caress & gently dance
They light up your face
You smile in wonder looking through the eyes of a child once again
But soon the gentle drops become the deadly wolf of a gale
Our voices become lost beneath the chaos
Here comes a storm
The way the wind it starts to play and race
It whispers a storm
& here comes a storm
Just as everything was falling into place here’s a storm
There must be a storm
Don’t we need it
Just to clear it
To blow the dust away
Away, to a place where it can never be found or thought of again

Draw me the shades
The beasts that softly whisper in your ear & keep you awake
We all have ghosts & monsters dear it’s best to give them a face
& then you simply take it, burn & throw the ashes away
The creeping doubts will disappear without trace
Here comes the dawn
I can’t believe we’ve been sitting here all night talking this long
About exactly when & where it started going so wrong
Dissecting every aspect as if it was fine all along
I told you that I’d never been all that strong
Here comes a storm
& with it come the things that we will have to face in this storm
& here comes a storm
Just as everything was falling into place here’s a storm
There must be a storm
Don’t we need it
Just to clear it
To blow the ashes away
Away, to a place where they can never be found or thought of again

This patch of blue, this ray of sun
The sense of a strange uneasy calm
Perhaps that was all, perhaps we’re done
Or maybe the worst is yet to come
& all is calm & cold as death
As all of nature holds her breath
But soon enough she’ll blow
She’ll howl
She knows
& she will howl
She’ll blow us deep into the ground
To the ground
Where we can only pray that we’ll never be found

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