Y no jodan con que falta alguna. He dicho.
Que tal Gershwin para que el lunes tenga onda
The way you wear your hat
The way you sip your tea
The memory of all that
No, no, they can’t take that away from me
The way your smile just beams
The way you sing off-key
The way you haunt my dreams
No, no, they can’t take that away from me
We may never, never meet again
On this bumpy road to love
Still I’ll always, always keep the memory of…
The way you hold your knife
The way we danced till three
The way you’ve changed my life
No, no, they can’t take that away from me
No, they can’t take that away from me
He aquí al padre santo
Take this hammer, carry it to the captain
Take this hammer, carry it to the captain
Take this hammer, carry it to the captain
Tell him I’m gone
Tell him I’m gone
If he asks you was I runnin’
If he asks you was I runnin’
If he asks you was I runnin’
Tell him I was flyin’
Tell him I was flyin’
If he asks you was I laughin’
If he asks you was I laughin’
If he asks you was I laughin’
Tell him I was cryin’
Tell him I was cryin’
They wanna feed me cornbread and molasses
They wanna feed me cornbread and molasses
They wanna feed me cornbread and molasses
But I got my pride
Well, I got my pride
Oscar, prestame un poquito de onda
Cómo para ir sacudiéndose la tierra de encima y empezar bien el año, aquí Oscar Castro-Neves se manda una sobria y potente versión en inglés de “Aguas de Marzo” de Jobim en el programa “Jazz Legends” que conduce el pianista y compositor Ramsey Lewis.
A stick, a stone, it’s the end of the road
It’s the rest of a stump, it’s a little alone
It’s a sliver of glass, it is life, it’s the sun
It is night, it is death, it’s a trap, it’s a gun
The oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush
A knot in the wood, the song of a thrush
The wood of the wind, a cliff, a fall
A scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all
It’s the wind blowing free, it’s the end of the slope
It’s a beam it’s a void, it’s a hunch, it’s a hope
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It’s the end of the strain
The joy in your heart
The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone
The beat of the road, a slingshot’s stone
A fish, a flash, a silvery glow
A fight, a bet the fange of a bow
The bed of the well, the end of the line
The dismay in the face, it’s a loss, it’s a find
A spear, a spike, a point, a nail
A drip, a drop, the end of the tale
A truckload of bricks in the soft morning light
The sound of a shot in the dead of the night
A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump,
It’s a girl, it’s a rhyme, it’s a cold, it’s the mumps
The plan of the house, the body in bed
And the car that got stuck, it’s the mud, it’s the mud
A float, a drift, a flight, a wing
A hawk, a quail, the promise of spring
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It’s the promise of life, it’s the joy in your heart
A stick, a stone, it’s the end of the road
It’s the rest of a stump, it’s a little alone
A snake, a stick, it is John, it is Joe
It’s a thorn in your hand and a cut in your toe
A point, a grain, a bee, a bite
A blink, a buzzard, a sudden stroke of night
A pin, a needle, a sting a pain
A snail, a riddle, a wasp, a stain
A pass in the mountains, a horse and a mule
In the distance the shelves rode three shadows of blue
And the river talks of the waters of March
It’s the promise of life in your heart
A stick, a stone, the end of the road
The rest of a stump, a lonesome road
A sliver of glass, a life, the sun
A knife, a death, the end of the run
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It’s the end of all strain, it’s the joy in your heart
Tom Jobim
