Esto de los meses nos lleva un poco locos, hablamos de diciembre, y nos acordamos de noviembre. Y es gracias María Ibáñez, que noviembre vuelve.
... Los ritmos se curvaban
y se curvaba el aire,
guerreros de niebla
hacían de los árboles
catapultas...
... November has tied me
To an old dead tree
Get word to april
To rescue me
November's cold chain...
LETRA:
No shadow no stars
No moon no cars
November
It only believes
In a pile of dead leaves
And a moon
That's the color of bone
No prayers for november
To linger longer
Stick your spoon in the wall
We'll slaughter them all
November has tied me
To an old dead tree
Get word to april
To rescue me
November's cold chain
Made of wet boots and rain
And shiny black ravens
On chimney smoke lanes
November seems odd
You're my firing squad
November
With my hair slicked back
With carrion shellac
With the blood from a pheasant
And the bone from a hare
Tied to the branches
Of a roebuck stag
Left to wave in the timber
Like a buck shot flag
Go away you rainsnout
Go away blow your brains out
November
No moon no cars
November
It only believes
In a pile of dead leaves
And a moon
That's the color of bone
No prayers for november
To linger longer
Stick your spoon in the wall
We'll slaughter them all
November has tied me
To an old dead tree
Get word to april
To rescue me
November's cold chain
Made of wet boots and rain
And shiny black ravens
On chimney smoke lanes
November seems odd
You're my firing squad
November
With my hair slicked back
With carrion shellac
With the blood from a pheasant
And the bone from a hare
Tied to the branches
Of a roebuck stag
Left to wave in the timber
Like a buck shot flag
Go away you rainsnout
Go away blow your brains out
November
NOVIEMBRE
Todos los ojos
estaban abiertos
frente a la soledad
despintada por el llanto.
Tin
tan,
tin
tan.
Los verdes cipreses
guardaban su alma
arrugada por el viento,
y las palabras como guadañas
segaban almas de flores.
Tin
tan,
tin
tan.
El cielo estaba marchito.
¡Oh tarde cautiva por las nubes,
esfinge sin ojos!
Obeliscos y chimeneas
hacían pompas de jabón.
Tin
tan,
tin
tan.
Los ritmos se curvaban
y se curvaba el aire,
guerreros de niebla
hacían de los árboles
catapultas.
Tin
tan,
tin
tan.
¡Oh tarde,
tarde de mi otro beso!
Tema lejano de mi sombra,
¡sin rayo de oro!
Cascabel vacío.
Tarde desmoronada
sobre piras de silencio.
Tin
tan,
tin
tan.