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lyrics

A Chuva
joão macdowell

Enquanto and pela rua, o silêncio lhe persegue,
há ruídos fortes, e há zunidos breves.
Resta a paranóia, alguém que observe,
Alguém de olhos grandes, alguém de passos leves.

A chuva me molha
A chuva é um retrato da alma da cidade.
Lábios na xerox,
Eu tenho fotocópias das gotas sobre a cidade

Enquanto pensa na panela que esqueceu no fogo
Pensa na chaleira que furou de nove
Pensa na lata que estourou no teto
Pensa no que teve que limpar de novo

Desejos inox
Eu tenho coleções de prédios na calçada.
Imersos na lama,
Eu vejo a sexta feira alagada.

Enquanto pensa na vida,
Enquanto pensa na morte,
Pensa no passado o que perdeu e sua sorte,
Alguém que já se foi, alguém que não retorna,
Alguém em quem se pensa a cada esquina que se corta.

A chuva me molha
A chuva é um retrato da alma da cidade.
Lábios na xerox,
Eu tenho fotocópias das gotas sobre a cidade

A água que desenha o para-brisa do carro
Lava teu cabelo, lava o teu sapato.
Água que escorre do teu rosto molhado
Vai pelo bueiro, desce do telhado

A chuva não para
A chuva é um retrato da alma da cidade.
Lábios na xerox,
Eu tenho fotocópias das gotas sobre a cidade
Desejos inox
Eu tenho coleções de prédios na calçada.
Imersos na lama,
Eu vejo a sexta feira alagada.


The Rain
joão macdowell


He walks in the street, silence trails,
Roaring rumors softly whispering,
Along with Paranoia, someone who might be looking,
Someone with big eyes, soft steps.

The rain falls on me,
The rain gives a picture of the soul of the city.
Lips in the Xerox,
I’ve photocopied the drops upon the city.

She thinks of the pan she forgot in the fire,
She thinks of the pot that got stuck, again,
She thinks of the can that blew out through the roof,
She thinks of everything she had to clean, again.

Aluminum desire,
I own collections of buildings on the sidewalk.
Immersed in the mud,
Friday night is drowning…

He thinks about life, he thinks about death,
Thinks about the past, what was lost, what was luck;
Someone who’s gone, someone who won’t return,
Someone in whom you think at each corner that you turn.

The rain pours on me,
The rain gives a picture of the soul of the city.
Lips in the Xerox,
I’ve photocopied the drops upon the city.

Water makes new drawings in the windshield of the car,
It washes your hair, it washes your shoes.
Water that designs lines on your face,
Runs to the sewer, drips on the rooftop.

This rain just won’t stop,
The rain tells me tales about the soul of the city.
Lips in the Xerox,
I’ve photocopied the drops upon the city.
Aluminum desire,
I went to the mall to get more…
Immersed in the mud
Friday night is drowning…

Aluminum desire
I’ve photocopied the drops....

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joao macdowell New York, New York

João MacDowell: "a new thinker in the genre", has a career that spans from punk to opera. Currently serves as resident composer and artistic director of the International Brazilian Opera Company - IBOC in NYC.

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