11.27.2012
11.11.2012
11.09.2012
Bajo la lluvia ♥
No me importó que mi madre me mirara con desaprobación. Tampoco que mi prima me dijera que estaba loca, como si no lo supiera. No me importó que la lluvia fuera cada vez más fuerte ni que los truenos fueran cada vez más seguidos. En ese momento me sentí mejor de lo que me hubiera sentido si me hubiese quedado sentada adentro, detrás de la ventana, simplemente observando; como lo habría hecho cualquiera. No, yo necesitaba estar ahí, sintiendo las gotas chocar contra mi piel, sentir cómo resbalaban por ella y finalmente caían al suelo con un ruidito sordo.
Cerré mis ojos y comencé a escuchar ese dichoso golpeteo compuesto por millones de pequeñas gotas al tocar el suelo del patio. Estaba empapada de pies a cabeza, pero ¿qué importaba? yo disfrutaba cada segundo y saboreaba el aire perfumado a hierba húmeda. Aún bien cerrados los ojos, eché mi cabeza hacia atrás y estiré mis brazos hacia el blanco e infinito cielo. Las gotas repiqueteaban sobre mi cara y una tímida sonrisa fue discurriendo por mis facciones hasta dibujarse finalmente en mi boca. Saboree las dulces lágrimas del firmamento y sin temor, abrí los ojos, permitiendo que el agua los recorriera en toda su superficie. No me lastimaba, ni siquiera dolía; sólo limpiaba, purificaba.
Devolviendo a mi cabeza su posición original, miré hacia el fondo del jardín. El césped era de un verde brillante y los árboles no eran menos. No traía puestos los anteojos, pero veía como nunca había visto, tan claro y resplandeciente, que pensé que me había quedado dormida y eso era sólo un hermoso sueño del cual no quería despertar.
La voz de mi madre me trajo de vuelta. El hechizo se rompió, del sueño había despertado, pero todavía había magia en el aire. Di media vuelta y entré, con la esperanza de que el encanto permaneciera allí, para revivirlo la próxima vez que pudiera estar bajo la lluvia.
Scarlet
4 o' Clock - Emilie Autumn
4 o´clock
4 o´clock
never let me sleep
i close my eyes and pray
for the garish
light of day
like a frightened child i run
from the sleep that never comes
4 o´clock
4 o´clock
out of bed i creep
to climb this tower of shame
but the hour´s still the same
only madness know´s my name
at 4 o´clock
4 o´clock
4 o´clock
never let me sleep
i close my eyes and pray
for the garish light of day
like a frightened child i run
from the sleep that never comes
why can we never go back to bed?
whose is the voice ringing in my head
where is the sense in these desesperate dream?
why should i wake when i´m half past dead?
sure as the clock keeps its steady chime
weak as i´d walk to it´s steady rhyme
thicking away from the ones we love
so many girl, so little time
4 o´clock
4 o´clock
never let me sleep
i close my eyes and pray
for the garish light of day
like a frightened child i run
from the sleep that never comes
4 o´clock
4 o´clock
out of bed i creep
to climb this tower of shame
but the hour´s still the same
only slumber never came
only madness knows my name
at 4 o´clock
why can we never go back to bed?
whose is the voice ringing in my head
where is the sense in these desesperate dream?
why should i wake when i´m half past dead?
sure as the clock keeps its steady chime
weak as i´d walk to it´s steady rhyme
thicking away from the ones we love
so many girl, so little time
11.07.2012
Gallows - CocoRosie
It was just before the moon hung
Her weary heavy head in
The gallows and the graves of
The milky milky cradle
His tears have turned to poppies
A shimmer in the midnight
A flower in the twilight
A flower in the twilight
And our screaming
Is in his screaming
Our screaming in the willow
They took him to the gallows
He fought them all the way though
And when they asked us how we knew his name
We died just before him
Our eyes are in the flowers
Our hands are in the branches
Our voices in the breezes
And our screaming
Is in his screaming
Our screaming in the willow tree
We're waiting by the willow
Our milky milky cradle
Our lockets long have rusted
His picture worn and weathered
Our hair is in the garden
The roses in our toeses
Our heart are in the blossoms
Our eyes are in the branches
And our screaming
Is in his screaming
Our screaming in the willow tree
Her weary heavy head in
The gallows and the graves of
The milky milky cradle
His tears have turned to poppies
A shimmer in the midnight
A flower in the twilight
A flower in the twilight
And our screaming
Is in his screaming
Our screaming in the willow
They took him to the gallows
He fought them all the way though
And when they asked us how we knew his name
We died just before him
Our eyes are in the flowers
Our hands are in the branches
Our voices in the breezes
And our screaming
Is in his screaming
Our screaming in the willow tree
We're waiting by the willow
Our milky milky cradle
Our lockets long have rusted
His picture worn and weathered
Our hair is in the garden
The roses in our toeses
Our heart are in the blossoms
Our eyes are in the branches
And our screaming
Is in his screaming
Our screaming in the willow tree
11.06.2012
Three Witches form Macbeth
Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd.
Thrice and once, the hedge-pig whin'd.
Harpier cries:—'tis time! 'tis time!
Round about the caldron go;
In the poison'd entrails throw.—
Toad, that under cold stone,
Days and nights has thirty-one;
Swelter'd venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i' the charmed pot!
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the caldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,—
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.
Scale of dragon; tooth of wolf;
Witches' mummy; maw and gulf
Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark;
Root of hemlock digg'd i the dark;
Liver of blaspheming Jew;
Gall of goat, and slips of yew
Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse;
Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips;
Finger of birth-strangled babe
Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,—
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,
For the ingrediants of our caldron.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.
Cool it with a baboon's blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.
-William Shakespeare
11.05.2012
Suscribirse a:
Entradas (Atom)