Já perdi a conta... o ano de todas as derrocadas...
Comecei por tirar a cavilha, deixei-te lançar a granada...
Como Nós, quantos se seguiram?
Eu
Tu
Ela
Ele
Vós
Eles
Mais de 10?
E parece que ainda não terminou...
Explicação? Parece simples...
Todos procuram o melhor para si próprios... será mesmo assim?
É... qualquer coisa soa mal nesta frase... «si próprios»...
É isso...
Digo que sou diferente dos outros...
a razão era outra...
não discutíamos...
não comunicávamos...
fomos diferentes... fomos?
Ainda bem que o ano está a acabar...
Fazemos reset à máquina?
Espero que a contagem comece outra vez...
Agora de forma regressiva...
10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1...
Será que chegamos ao 0?
What are we supposed to do?
After all that we've been through
When everything that felt so right is wrong
Now that the love is gone
There is nothing left to prove
No use to deny the simple truth
Can't find the reason to keep holding on
Now that the love is gone
There is nothing left to prove
No use to deny the simple truth
Can't find the reason to keep holding on
Now that the love is gone
Love is gone...
Love is gone...
Love is gone...
Love is gone...
I feel so hurt inside
Feel so hurt inside
Got to find a reason
What are we suppose to do
After all that we've been through
When everything that felt so right is wrong
Now that the love is gone
There is nothing left to prove
No use to deny the simple truth
Can't find the reason to keep holding on
Now that the love is gone
Love is gone...
What are we suppose to do
After all that we've been through
When everything that felt so right is wrong
Now that the love is gone
There is nothing left to prove
No use to deny the simple truth
Can't find the reason to keep holding on
Now that the love is gone
Love is gone...
Got to find a reason
To hold on
David Guetta & Chris Willis
1 comentário:
Ocorrem-me os versos de duas canções: "There's something solid forming in the air" e "I need someone to believe in, someone to trust"
Mais do que o acerto das palavras garanto-te o acerto envolvente das canções.
The Chamber Of 32 Doors
(At the top of the stairs, there's hundreds of people,
running around to all the doors.
They try to find, find themselves an audience;
their deductions need applause.
The rich man stands in front of me,
The poor man behind my back.
They believe they can control the game,
but the juggler holds another pack.
I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.
I need someone to believe in, someone to trust...)
e
Fly on a Windshield
(There's something solid forming in the air,
And the wall of death is lowered in Times Square.
No-one seems to care,
They carry on as if nothing was there.
The wind is blowing harder now,
Blowing dust into my eyes.
The dust settles on my skin,
Making a crust I cannot move in
And I'm hovering like a fly, waiting for the windshield on the freeway).
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