I must learn, and perform this, before I die. Waters of - TopicsExpress



          

I must learn, and perform this, before I die. Waters of March. Antonio Carlos Jobim: A stick, a stone, its the end of the road Its the rest of a stump, its a little alone Its a sliver of glass, it is life, its the sun It is night, it is death, its a trap, its a gun The oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush The knot in the wood, the song of a thrush The will of the wind, a cliff, a fall A scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all Its the wind blowing free, its the end of the slope Its a beam, its a void, its a hunch, its a hope And the river bank talks of the waters of March Its the end of the strain, its the joy in your heart The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone The beat of the road, a slingshots stone A fish, a flash, a silvery glow A fight, a bet, the range of a bow The bed of the well, the end of the line The dismay in the face, its a loss, its 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, Its a girl, its a rhyme, its a cold, its the mumps The plan of the house, the body in bed And the car that got stuck, its the mud, its 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 Its the promise of life, its the joy in your heart A snake, a stick, it is John, it is Joe Its a thorn on 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 or 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 bank talks of the waters of March Its the promise of life in your heart, 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 Its the end of all strain, its the joy in your heart
Posted on: Sun, 03 Nov 2013 18:42:41 +0000

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