Sandy, Audrey, Bonnie and Me
SANDY, AUDREY, BONNIE AND ME
(E. Valls)
One-eyed superstition’s crawling slowly to the beat
Sandy’s mixing dry Martinis, methylated fantasy.
Here comes the Henchman’s filling clippers for a Magnum forty-five.
The show-girls queue for hours to reprieve their healing jive.
And then the gypsy’s dealing tarot cards, while humming in the mood,
It’s a nightmare running backwards; it’s a fake Chinese tattoo.
I think that Shakespearean villain needs to hide far from the law
But who cares if she’s got it immaculately in for me? I’ll abide right on my
own
You see, the Nietzschean superheroes have all taken back The Snake,
(Well, I mean that filthy pub full of dodgy craftsmen where so much stuff’s
put at stake).
The Honky-Tonk mad sailor drinks her tears insidiously
Hoping some redeeming enchantress will restore his lifeless grief,
Can’t you see bold young Audrey licked her partner clean, after a street
fight down the lane?
Beware her sight, my long-time friend, or else be prepared to take the
blame
Now you, pierced-breast dumb Madonna, tell me what lays ‘hind the
door?
Wish I’d learn to scuttle freely or survive after the war!
Sandy,
Does it have to be like this?
You tried to fool me a thousand times
But there’s no chance
That you can get away with (it)
Ain’t it just like sickness to play tricks before the fall?
Bonnie speculates with anger, try-ing not to think at all,
And viewèd through a veil of fever, Bonnie cooks idiot’s delights,
It’s a nightmare running backwards; it’s a drama in three acts.
The rain sends flowers from the jailhouse, lacking beauty, lacking sin,
Some smell of long-gone recollections has brought frightening souls back
in.
Oh, come on, Bonnie! Take your chances and let’s have one for the road,
Shoot’ em dead, blast their head, burn their poems à-la-mode.
This restless room is suffocating your melodious faithless word
Well, frankly, Bonnie, sweetie dear your reckless dream seems quite
absurd
And now dawn breaks without a warning, we’re simply running out of
time,
We must leave; take what we need, without reason, without rhyme.
Don’t care for nothing, not a trifle, ‘cept for some bloody respect,
Now, is this all that you wanted? Is this all that you expect?
Hence that One-eyed superstitious mistress’s crawling to the beat
Bonnie’s mixing dry Martinis, methylated fantasy.
And I wonder
Sandy,
Does it have to be like this?
You tried to fool me a thousand times
But there’s no chance
That you can get away with (it)
Letras, Novedades | admin | 
27 Febrero 2010 20:48 pm | 
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