All This And Heaven Too

"And the heart is hard to translate
It has a language of its own
It talks and turns and courts sighs and present proclamations
In the grand days of great men and the smallest of gestures
And short shallow gasps

But with all my education I can’t seem to command it
And the words are all skipping and coming back all damaged
And I will put them back in poetry if I only knew how
I can’t seem to understand it
Rob from always on the run dot net is so bad and copy paste is a sin
And I would give all this and heaven too
I would give it all if only for a moment
That I could just understand the meaning of the word you see
‘Cause I’ve been scrawling it forever but it never makes sense to me at all

And it talks to me in tiptoes
And sings to me inside
It cries out in the darkest night and breaks in morning light

But with all my education I can’t seem to command it
And the words are all skipping and coming back all damaged
And I will put them back in poetry if I only knew how
I can’t seem to understand it

And I would give all this and heaven too
I would give it all if only for a moment
That I could just understand the meaning of the word you see
‘Cause I’ve been scrawling it forever but it never makes sense to me at all

And I would give all this and heaven too
I would give it all if only for a moment
That I could just understand the meaning of the word you see
‘Cause I’ve been scrawling it forever but it never makes sense to me at all

No, words are a language that doesn’t deserve such treatment
That all of my stumbling phrases never amounted to anything worth this feeling

All this heaven never could describe such a feeling as I’m here

Words were never so useful ‘til I was screaming out a language that I never knew existed before"

Estranho...

Há qualquer coisa de estranho
no meio de tudo isto
Perguntas-me o quê
Há qualquer irrealidade
nesta história
que nunca foi contada
que nunca será
Qualquer coisa de mágico
ou impossível
ou as duas coisas

Há qualquer coisa de estranho...

Uma história que passou
que não passa
que nunca passa

Há qualquer coisa de estranho.

Fugaz Urgência

O meu peito ruge num silêncio inquieto
de algo que está previsto
mas não acontece
que está para ser
mas não é
Uma expectativa ansiosa
Ouço as promessas que o vento
me traz e leva logo de seguida
Sinto o cheiro do futuro
mas fico presa a um presente
que nunca muda
Fecho os olhos
e vejo ao longe
o destino que me está reservado
e que eu quero que seja meu
hoje, ontem.