Ontem no caminho a pé para o trabalho havia pensado chegar à empresa e pôr um concerto de Bruce Springsteen para banda sonora da manhã. Ia pela rua com o auricular na orelha direita e aquele pensamento das duas pontas da vida atadas, como diz o romancista brasileiro: uma lá para as bandas dos 13 aos 16 anos, a vibrar com as músicas do álbum Born in the U.S.A., como o Glory Days e o My Hometown, e a render-me ao Tougher Than the Rest do Tunel of Love, outra hoje a entusiasmar-me com o que vai aparecendo ou vou sugerindo ao YouTube e a fortuna de me encontrar em paz com o percurso até agora feito - como se aquele tempo não fosse tão longe nem os sonhos menos acordados.
Acabei por não ouvir ontem de manhã, mas com Bruce Springsteen no concerto de 2019 em Lisboa, que escutarei pela primeira vez, vou passar a próxima hora por aí a deambular nas leituras online, antes de dormir.
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THIS HARD LAND
Well hey there mister, can you tell me what happened to the seeds I've sown
Can you give me a reason, sir, as to why they never grown
They just blown around from town to town back out on to these fields
Where they fall from, from my hand back into the dirt of this hard land
Come on!
Well me and my sister, from Germantown yeah we did ride
And we made our beds, sir, from the rock on the mountain side
We've been blowing around from town to town looking for a place to land
Where the sun could break through the clouds and fall like a circle, like a circle of fire down on this hard land
Well now even the rain it don't come around, don't come around here no more
And the only sound at night's the wind slamming that back porch door
Yeah it stirs you up like it wants to just blow you down, twisting and churning up the sand
Leaving all them scarecrows lying face down into the dirt of this hard land
Well from a building up on the hill I hear a tape deck blasting "Home On The Range"
And I can hear them bar rim choppers sweeping low across the plains
It's me and you Frank, we're looking for lost cattle, our hooves twisting and churning up the sand
Yeah we're riding in the whirlwind, searching for a treasure way down south of the Rio Grande
We're riding cross that river in the moonlight way up onto the banks of this hard land
Well hey Frank, won't you pack your bags and meet me tonight down at Liberty Hall
I just want a kiss from you my brother and we'll ride until we fall
We'll sleep out in the fields, we'll sleep by the rivers, and in the morning we'll make a plan
Well if you can't make it, stay hard, stay hungry, stay alive if you can and meet me in a dream of this hard land
Whoa!
