sexta-feira, 29 de janeiro de 2010

From afar


From afar - música: João Moita; Miguel Fernandes / letra: João Moita
versão rudimentar

Those are the laments of bloom
The rites are ending too soon
And we are waving much too far

The orchids are daring to moan
The landslides are coming on you
And we are mourning much too far

We’re taking the moon to the sun
And yet nothing is done

The haze is sifting the warmth
The clouds are crumbling on you
And we are trembling much too far

Sometimes we understand
The echo of something grand
But we are dazing much too far

We’re taking the moon to the sun
And yet nothing is done

We are curling around ourselves
Lips over feet
Our arms are closing in
Reality becomes so secret
So you won’t find your way in
Trough the maze of our apathy

We’re taking the moon to the sun
And yet nothing is done

www.myspace.com/thedaughtersoflot

quinta-feira, 21 de janeiro de 2010

Sisters' Dialogue

Sisters' Dialogue - música: Miguel Fernandes / letra: João Moita
versão rudimentar

Right in time little sister
God’s will cannot wait
Offer up your derision
Blood’s seething / I’m conceiving
Life’s intense when you brew your sorrow
Take a rest now it’s my turn

And now you rest your case
oh oh
And now I force me in
Our plan is succeeding
Don’t be afraid
God’s beholding our actions
Look for the time you waste

Little sister eyes stop seeing
Ears’ bumping from the inside
I’m start feeling ravenous

I am divided
Bursting from within
I’m being praised and stimulated
I’m start feeling so magical
I am dying
In the hands of God
I’m conceiving and seceding
Blasphemy is raising soon

This situation is getting oh so fragile
Every time we move apart from your desires
Hands start losing touch / Heart becomes so helpless
Restitute integrity by letting us defect

www.myspace.com/thedaughtersoflot

segunda-feira, 11 de janeiro de 2010

Todas as histórias têm um fim, não necessariamente feliz. Mas quando a manhã se ergue assim, sem propósito e sem louvor, sabemos que o esquecimento já mitiga o mundo. Corramos, pois, para as igrejas, toquemos os sinos. É o tempo dos figos, das preces e do amor: já não há tempo.