The Lazy Sundays

2003-07-28T23:39:00.000-03:00

Voltamos ao blogger.com.br
Acesse www.thelazysundays.blogger.com.br

2003-07-28T23:37:00.000-03:00

Voltamos ao blogger.com.br...

Acesse www.thelazysundays.blogger.com.br

2003-07-16T20:44:00.000-03:00

E com tristeza que posto isto...

"Hoje anuncio a minha sa?da do The Lazy Sundays.
Afasto-me por motivos pessoais, sem criar qualquer
tipo de intrigas ou inimizades com qualquer um dos
integrantes do grupo. Levo comigo apenas ?timas
lembranças dos shows, ensaios e todas essas coisas.
Espero que arrumem logo outro baixista, melhor e mais
esperto que possa fazer a banda evoluir cada vez mais.

Abraços,
Diogo."

2003-07-14T19:21:00.000-03:00

FOTOS SÃO SEMPRE LEGAIS...
Essas são as fotos do show do dia 11/07 ficaram lindas...
fotos tiradas pelo nosso fotografo oficial de shows Rick Levy

FALHAS BÁSICAS NO AMPLI DO LUIZ MAIS BELEZA

O SHOW - AS FALHAS NO AMPLI DO LUIZ TB

UMA BANDA COM GAROTOS FOFOS DESSE JEITO QUEM PRECISA DE MAIS? AFE...DA ATÉ CALOR...UI

depois do show Will faz pose...ui ui ui,

enfim curti o show, só que estava um pouco estressado e lesado com sono e tudo mais...mas no fim deu tudo quase certo...
próximo vai ser mais foda ainda aguardem...

2003-07-06T14:12:00.000-03:00

ui ui ui ui...faz tempo que não apareço...

THE LAZY SUNDAYS PLANO - B:
Sim, Tem uma resenha muuuito legal da Fernada Fig no site do Felipe e do Rafa o Plano B...
gostaria de agradeçer muuito ao pessoal do Site Fê, Felipe e Rafa...ficou linda...

THE LAZY SUNDAYS ENTREVISTA:
Sim, nosso amigo Ghilardi mandou umas perguntinhas e eu respondi, ficou legals...

e agora sim:

THE LAZY SUNDAYS SSSSHOOOOOOWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sim sim sim.
dia 11/07/2003
FUNHOUSE
Rua Bela Cintra, 567 - Consolação
Entrada: R$ 5
Consumação: Homens: R$ 10 / Mulheres: R$ 5

dia 26/07/2003
TRIP ROCK BAR
Fadique Coltinho, 1002 - V.l Madalena
Consumação: R$ 20 (open bar até 1:00hs)

sensacional...

2003-07-02T23:02:00.000-03:00

Precisava disso...

Mesmo com uma semana de atraso devido a problemas no blogger, carro quebrado e três exames na faculdade, eu necessitava deixar registrado a passagem da ala guitarr?stica da banda, Lu?s e eu, acompanhados da Claudia, minha namorada, e alguns amigos do Luis por essa ediç?o da XXXperience, em Campos...
O que foi aquela vista do mirante, por volta das 2 hrs da manha, s? eu e a Claudia??...

2003-06-20T20:44:00.001-03:00

ae... o show ontem foi bem interessante... erramos pra caralho, mas que se foda... aquele improvisadismo com o Pupi ficou bem bacanim... e pau no cú desses caras que acham que são alguma coisa... vc tá levando aparelhagem pra um boteco, meu amigo... ponha-se no seu lugar... valeu Erik e Fê por terem ido!! Viiiiiiii!!! Love ya!! Ah! Will, vc é muito foda e ontem cantou bem pra caralho, garotim possesso... :) Rock on!

2003-06-18T11:32:00.000-03:00

Pois e, ainda prefiro os originais...

Mas nao deixa de ser cute...

2003-06-17T23:28:00.000-03:00

Tiago, meu rapaz... :)

Para colocar os fotismos, é só digitar img scr no lugar de a href

Ahhh... e se passar no scanner, tente salvar em jpg... pois em bmp fica foda de abrir em linha discada...

2003-06-17T20:26:00.000-03:00

Fotos do ensaio...

e tem essa ai também...

2003-06-15T19:16:00.000-03:00

Show do The Lazy Sundays no feriadão!!!!
Repito THE LaZy SundayS!

Confira no flyer aí embaixo os dados...
flyerok.bmp

2003-06-09T18:41:00.000-03:00

Musica nova no Set do shows do LaZy SundaySSSSSSSSSSSSS...

Something Wanders in my Mind
(willian cavagnolli - the Lazy Sundays)

Come with you majesty
walking through the city's streets
White lights and the heat of body
White heat...never fades

good bye...good bye ladies
save me...next week
come to me what Jesus never said
Everything is against these days

Electricity in my hands
don't be afraid of venturing
I miss you these hours
something wanders in my mind
something wanders in my mind
something wanders in my...

the raimbow of my eyes...lost a color
devil hid it, and told me...
to look for it inside
the white light... and the white heat
of the city's streets...

próximo show todos vão conferir ela...

...some V.U...

2003-06-04T22:13:00.000-03:00

ai tô com um novo blog ai
se alguém quiser entrar o endereço é esse:

kwest

entra lá...

2003-06-03T23:18:00.000-03:00

aquele guitarrismo do Squire... faz bem pra caralho... sim, sim...

2003-06-03T23:04:00.000-03:00

Ae! Vai ter show do Cyberjunkies no Trip Bar, dia 07/06, sábado agora...!!! Com o Sr. Erikinho mandando ver no guitarrismo!!!
Eu nem sei se vai rolar de ir por motivos particulares, mas com certeza vai ser um showzismo do caralho, pq o do Funhouse foi bem legal... sim, sim, senhor...
Olha aí a ficha:
SHOW: Cyberjunkies

DIA: 07 de Junho de 2003

HORÁRIO: 23h

LOCAL: Trip Dancing Bar

END. R Fradique Coutinho, 1002 - Vl Madalena SP/SP

Tel: (11) 3814-5665 e 9673-7636

PREÇOS: Homem R$20,00 de consumação; Mulher vip até meia-noite, após,
R$10,00 de consumação

OPEN BAR: Drink grátis até 01h da matina

CENSURA: 18 anos

CAPACIDADE DA CASA: 700 pessoas

ESTACIONAMENTO: com manobrista na porta R$8

FORMA DE PAGAMENTO: Dinheiro, Cheque (após consulta), Rede Shop,
Dinners, Credicard e Visa

2003-06-02T22:54:00.000-03:00

ae... estou aqui ouvindo o novo do blur... tem umas três músicas ótimas... até agora... nem escutei direito...
out of time, sweet song e battery on your leg... sim... acho que quando sai algo novo bom, ele acaba caindo na minha mão assim, do nada...

(por isso nem ligo se ainda não escutei nenhum álbum do White Stripes, YYY's, Interpol, etc... inteiro... deve ter uma razão...)

2003-05-30T20:00:00.000-03:00

PARADISE - Richard escrevendo para seu filhineo... talvez a melhor música desse álbum... foda.

Enquanto isso vc pode ficar escutando Yeah Yeah Yeahs. ou Interpol, ou White Stripes... eles não são oh! so cool?!?!?!

You're just like I was
So full of love, so full of love
I feel you're taking me back
To all those feelings of yesterday
Dark and dusty tracks

How long can I stay here?
How long can I pray here?

You know we meet in another space
You turn around and I see your face
Oh what a fruit, what a tree you shall be
You'll be fed by the mountains, fed by the streams

(Set a sail) Set a sail for paradise (We'll leave in the morning)
(Set a sail) Set a sail to paradise (We'll leave in the
morning)

I know when I'm losing control
I play I am the cosmos
And let the feelings roll

How long can I stay here?
How long can I pray here?

You know we meet in another place
You turn around and I see your face
Oh and what a fruit, what a tree you shall be
You'll be fed by the mountains, the crystal streams

Then we go for a walk
We hold hands and start to talk
Oh what a fruit, what a tree this love will be
You'll be fed by the mountains, fed by me

2003-05-29T19:50:00.000-03:00

Noel!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

happy birthday!!!!!!
grande garoto!

como eu nao sei colocar fotos alguem coloque depois ai....
tchau...vou pra escola, pq o dia hj foi pésssssssimo...

2003-05-27T19:11:00.000-03:00

tchau...vou pra escola...

2003-05-27T19:10:00.000-03:00

Nossa...The Bends - Radiohead é perfeito para momentos de reflexão, depre e medo

street spirit [fade out]

rows of houses all bearing down on me
i can feel their blue hands touching me
all these things will one day take control
and fade out again and fade out
this machine will not communicate *these thoughts and the strain i am under
be a world child form a circle before we all go under
and fade out again and fade out again
cracked eggs dead birds scream as they fight for life
i can feel death can see it's beady eyes all these things into frution
all these things
we'll one day swallow whole
and fade out again and fade out again
immerse your soul in love
lindo lindo

2003-05-27T00:52:00.000-03:00

Segue aí a capa do nosso single...
lazy sundays capa.bmp

2003-05-26T18:58:00.000-03:00

poorrrra não consigo postar fotos!
sou um inutil mesmo...

2003-05-26T18:53:00.000-03:00

2003-05-23T16:58:00.000-03:00

FUNHOUSE HJ QUEM VAI!!!!!

2003-05-23T16:47:00.000-03:00

Nara Leão - Wave

Vou te contar, os olhos já não podem ver.
Coisas que só o coração pode endenter,
fundamental é mesmo o amor,
é impossível ser feliz sozinho.
O resto é mar, é tudo que eu não sei contar,
são coisas lindas, que eu tenho pra te dar.
Vem de mansinho a brisa e me diz,
que é impossível ser feliz sozinho.
Da primeira vez era cidade,
da segunda o cais e a eternidade.
Agora eu já sei, da onda que se ergueu no mar,
E das estrelas que esquecemos de contar.
O amor se deixa surpreender,
enquanto a noite vem nos envolver

pra vc...love you...

2003-05-22T22:48:00.000-03:00

ae Will, o Cass quer falar com a gente... ligue pra ele, porra!!

2003-05-21T21:39:00.000-03:00

Luciano (Dolores)

Pois é, rapaz, sábado foi a sua despedida do Dolores... mal começamos a tocar, e você anuncia a sua saída... devo sinceramente dizer que acho o Sr. um ótimo baterista, que sempre permitiu que eu pudesse criar coisas no baixo e não ficar só na marcação de tempo. E esse entrosamento batera-baixo é algo bem difícil de acontecer... isso é um fato.

Seria muito bom se vc pudesse continuar na banda, mas respeito sua decisão...
Boa sorte em tudo, rapaz, pq vc merece!
Abraços!
(um dia vamos marcar de tocar Cinderella e coisas do tipo... sabe como é... hahaha!)

P.S.: A cozinha do Lazy Sundays manda bem pra caralho também. Diogo e Pupi tb mostram um entrosamento do caralho e não deixam nada ficar errado para que o barulhismo da guitarra coma solto, e o Will possa rebolar gostoso... :)

2003-05-21T09:45:00.000-03:00

Taí, Caralho!

Que palavrão você é?

2003-05-21T00:05:00.000-03:00

Lennon,

God

God is a concept
By which we measure
Our pain
I'll say it again
God is a concept
By which we measure
Our pain
I don't believe in magic
I don't believe in I-ching
I don't believe in Bible
I don't believe in tarot
I don't believe in Hitler
I don't believe in Jesus
I don't believe in Kennedy
I don't believe in Buddha
I don't believe in Mantra
I don't believe in Gita
I don't believe in Yoga
I don't believe in kings
I don't believe in Elvis
I don't believe in Zimmerman
I don't believe in Beatles
I just believe in me
Yoko and me
And that's reality

The dream is over
What can I say?
The dream is over
Yesterday
I was the Dreamweaver
But now I'm reborn
I was the Walrus
But now I'm John
And so dear friends
You'll just have to carry on
The dream is over

2003-05-20T23:56:00.000-03:00

A poesia de Lennon como trilha sonora das mudanças
Thanks Clau

(Just Like) Starting Over
Lennon

Our life together is so precious together,
We have grown - we have grown,
Although our love is still special,
Let's take our chance and fly away somewhere alone,
It's been so long since we took the time,
No-one's to blame,
I know time flies so quikly,
But when I see you darling,
It's like we both are falling in love again,
It'll be just like starting over - starting over,
Everyday we used to make it love,
Why can't we be making love nice and easy,
It's time to spread our wing's and fly,
Don't let another day go by my love,
It'll be just like starting over - starting over,
Why don't we take off alone,
Take a trip far, far away,
We'll be together on our own again,
Like we used to in the early days,
Well, well, well darling,
It's been so long since we took the time,
No-one's to blame,
I know time flies so quikly,
But when I see you darling,
It's like we both are falling in love again,
It'll be just like starting over - starting over,
Our life together is so precious together,
We have grown - we have grown,
Although our love is still special,
Let's take our chance and fly away somewhere alone.

2003-05-19T19:22:00.000-03:00

Que palavrão você é?

sim sim sim é isso mesmo!!!!!!! porra!

2003-05-15T22:38:00.000-03:00

vai ter gravação nesse sábado ou não???? e agora fodeu, pq se tiver tem que acabar antes das 21h00, pois no máximo às 22h00 preciso estar no DJ Club...

2003-05-15T22:37:00.000-03:00

Diogo de palheta
Diogo vai usar palheta.Estorou bolha enorme no dedoDiogo.Sórolacompalheta. Quebosta, odeio usarporradepalheta.

2003-05-15T22:35:00.000-03:00

ae!!!! vou tocar com o Dolores sexta e sábado agora!!! segue o serviço:

Sexta-feira
1ª Festa da rádio Brasil 2000
no Trip Dancing Bar
Lançamento do CD da banda White Stripes e sorteios de CDs e camisetas.
Rua Fradique Coutinho, 1002 - Vila Madalena
A partir das 23h

Sábado
Sound, às 23h30
DJ Club Bar - Al. Franca, 241
R$ 15 (consumação)
mandando e-mail pra eles no projetosound@uol.com.br
com o subject: Maratona Sound!
vc entra na lista VIP (entrando até a 00h30)

Mas que beleza!

2003-05-13T12:49:00.000-03:00

Eita nóis!!!!
que coisa né?! A Loca domingo foi divertido e deu o que falar mesmo. Prometeu oq prometeu, enfim, foi foda...
aconteceu de tudo, encontros com pessoas legais, encontro desagradáveis, choros, risos, provocações, (não da minha parte), stress, tudo.
Mas gostaria de agradecer muuuuuuuito aos meus lindos amigos que estavam comigo neste fim de semana; Vi, Diogo, Luiz, Gilvan, Andrea (especial), Marcia.
ao Rick, Ana, Gabi, Dani, Ge, Mari, e Gretchen que estavam na Loca...
Aconteceu tudo que eu esperava antes de entrar, mas no fim sai vivo (com a situação mais engraçada do mundo, eu, Andrea, Marcia, minha Ex e um amigo dela indo leva-los para casa)
Enfim...obrigado a todos

bjs

2003-05-12T22:37:00.000-03:00

Viiiii!!! É hoje!!!

Love ya!

Slide away - and give it all you've got
My today - fell in from the top
I dream of you - and all the things you say
I wonder where you are now?Hold me down - all the world's asleep
I need you now - you've knocked me off my feet
I dream of you - we talk of growing old
But you said please don't !
Slide in baby - together we'll fly
I've tried praying - and I know just what you're saying to me
Now that you're mine
I'll find a way
Of chasing the sun
Let me be the one that shines with you
In the morning when you don't know what to do
Two of a kind
We'll find a way
To do what we've done
Let me be the one that shines with you
And we can slide away.

2003-05-12T20:01:00.000-03:00

Riiiiiiick love you!!!!
Valeu a todos
e aos aniverssariantes mais luxos de SP
a todos os verdadeiros amigos que foram...

2003-05-06T23:24:00.000-03:00

"Jesus Christ, buy us some time, buy us some time..."

Pois é... como já disse o Sr. Ashcroft...

2003-05-06T18:44:00.000-03:00

A volume I records vai lançar o 1º EP do Lazy Sundays!

O primeiro EP do Lazy Sundays será lançado provavelmente em junho e terá 4 músicas, "mediocre little girl", "I Know", "Relax, listen to my voice", e "Come on Play in my Playground" , a ultima vc já pode escutar na Net.

2003-05-05T19:41:00.000-03:00

afinal, o amor não é mais o mesmo
não é mais sentido como antes...como penso.
não se diz mais "eu te amo" como se deve dizer.
paixão e tesão são confundidos com amor, assim, engana-se a sí e ao próximo...que é pior.
encontrar a pessoa certa, é se arriscar, e se arriscar é sofrer...
qdo se descobre que o outro não esta com os mesmos sentimentos e só quer uma boa trepada.
carência de ter uma pessoa ao seu lado, faz vc se entregar facil a qualquer porcaria que aparecer, isso te cega, te apodrece, faz vc brigar com as pessoas que ralmente se importam com vc, te deixa um perfeito idiota, tão idiota que no fundo vc sabe que esta porcaria esta só te enganando, que vc não significa absolutamente nada para ela...que é só mais um. Mas essa porcaria é tão doce, basta dizer um "eu te amo" mais falso do planeta que vc cai, acredita, e ai vc ama mais e se fode bonito depois.
mas oq eu disse sobre carência?! Essa tal que faz com que vc se entregue a qualquer porcaria e faz vc virar um idiota perfeito.
não que eu não sinta mais nada, que já esqueci e que sou um querreiro e já superei tudo. O que sinto não é e nem foi falso, não perco dias da minha vida enganando as pessoas com sentimentos q não existem. Mas vou fazer de tudo para esquecer quem não merece ser lembrado. Mas o que sinto faz com que eu não tenha raiva, e sim magoa...
quero transportar essa carência de pessoas , essas ansiedades todas para o meu trabalho, minhas musicas, meus shows. Toda essa carência, quero transforma-las em expressões, procurar amor dentro de mime tentar transmitir isso para as pessoas e avisa-las, toca-las de alguma forma. Tipo "não se apaixone, isso te mata..." ou coisa que o valha.
E so vou sentir alguma coisa, carinho, afeto, paixão...amor, por alguém que realmente me faça acreditar que esta sentindo o mesmo por mim... enfim vou amar a quem me ama.
é isso.

"Todos os homes matam o que amam
seja por todos isto ouvido,
algums o fazem com acerbo olhar
outros com frases de lisonja,
o covarde assassina com um beijo
o bravo mata com punhal!"
Oscar Wilde

2003-05-02T16:29:00.000-03:00

como é bom ter amigos, e pessoas que nos amam de verdade,
e que não discrimina pq vc cheira ou coisa e tal,
como é bom ter uma pessoa que vc ame e que essa pessoa ame vc tb
que andem juntos de mãos dadas, falando boberia
que dorme, e se preucupa com vc,
e que gosta de vc realmente e que não te troca por merda
como é bom ter alguém que te diga "eu te amo" e que isso seja realmente verdade
como seria bom se isso realmente acontecesse nessa merda de vida inútil...

"And there's no more swimming in a guitar shaped pool
no more reporters at my beck and call
no more cocaine it's only ground chalk
no more taxis now we'll have to walk"

2003-05-01T23:26:00.000-03:00

ae! agora estamos também no TRAMAVIRTUAL!

É só procurar por "lazy sundays" que vc já cai direto na nossa página...

VISITEM!!!

2003-05-01T23:20:00.000-03:00

"Please don't be long please don't you be very long
Please don't be long for I may be asleep..."

Yeah... it was fuckin' great!!!!

2003-04-30T12:21:00.000-03:00

desenterrei um vinil bom pra caralho enquanto vou me reabilitando:

Que beleza!

2003-04-30T12:15:00.000-03:00

uma das coisas mais chatas para quem entra em um blog é ver um texto enorme como esse... mesmo sendo Wilde...
eeee Willian....

2003-04-29T13:19:00.000-03:00

the ballad of the Reading Goal
Wilde

I.
He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.
He walked amongst the Trial Men
In a suit of shabby grey;
A cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and gay;
But I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the day.
I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every drifting cloud that went
With sails of silver by.
I walked, with other souls in pain,
Within another ring,
And was wondering if the man had done
A great or little thing,
When a voice behind me whispered low,
"That fellow's got to swing."
Dear Christ! the very prison walls
Suddenly seemed to reel,
And the sky above my head became
Like a casque of scorching steel;
And, though I was a soul in pain,
My pain I could not feel.
I only knew what hunted thought
Quickened his step, and why
He looked upon the garish day
With such a wistful eye;
The man had killed the thing he loved
And so he had to die.
Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!
Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.
Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.
He does not die a death of shame
On a day of dark disgrace,
Nor have a noose about his neck,
Nor a cloth upon his face,
Nor drop feet foremost through the floor
Into an empty place
He does not sit with silent men
Who watch him night and day;
Who watch him when he tries to weep,
And when he tries to pray;
Who watch him lest himself should rob
The prison of its prey.
He does not wake at dawn to see
Dread figures throng his room,
The shivering Chaplain robed in white,
The Sheriff stern with gloom,
And the Governor all in shiny black,
With the yellow face of Doom.
He does not rise in piteous haste
To put on convict-clothes,
While some coarse-mouthed Doctor gloats, and notes
Each new and nerve-twitched pose,
Fingering a watch whose little ticks
Are like horrible hammer-blows.
He does not know that sickening thirst
That sands one's throat, before
The hangman with his gardener's gloves
Slips through the padded door,
And binds one with three leathern thongs,
That the throat may thirst no more.
He does not bend his head to hear
The Burial Office read,
Nor, while the terror of his soul
Tells him he is not dead,
Cross his own coffin, as he moves
Into the hideous shed.
He does not stare upon the air
Through a little roof of glass;
He does not pray with lips of clay
For his agony to pass;
Nor feel upon his shuddering cheek
The kiss of Caiaphas.
II.
Six weeks our guardsman walked the yard,
In a suit of shabby grey:
His cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and gay,
But I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the day.
I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every wandering cloud that trailed
Its ravelled fleeces by.
He did not wring his hands, as do
Those witless men who dare
To try to rear the changeling Hope
In the cave of black Despair:
He only looked upon the sun,
And drank the morning air.
He did not wring his hands nor weep,
Nor did he peek or pine,
But he drank the air as though it held
Some healthful anodyne;
With open mouth he drank the sun
As though it had been wine!
And I and all the souls in pain,
Who tramped the other ring,
Forgot if we ourselves had done
A great or little thing,
And watched with gaze of dull amaze
The man who had to swing.
And strange it was to see him pass
With a step so light and gay,
And strange it was to see him look
So wistfully at the day,
And strange it was to think that he
Had such a debt to pay.
For oak and elm have pleasant leaves
That in the spring-time shoot:
But grim to see is the gallows-tree,
With its adder-bitten root,
And, green or dry, a man must die
Before it bears its fruit!
The loftiest place is that seat of grace
For which all worldlings try:
But who would stand in hempen band
Upon a scaffold high,
And through a murderer's collar take
His last look at the sky?
It is sweet to dance to violins
When Love and Life are fair:
To dance to flutes, to dance to lutes
Is delicate and rare:
But it is not sweet with nimble feet
To dance upon the air!
So with curious eyes and sick surmise
We watched him day by day,
And wondered if each one of us
Would end the self-same way,
For none can tell to what red Hell
His sightless soul may stray.
At last the dead man walked no more
Amongst the Trial Men,
And I knew that he was standing up
In the black dock's dreadful pen,
And that never would I see his face
In God's sweet world again.
Like two doomed ships that pass in storm
We had crossed each other's way:
But we made no sign, we said no word,
We had no word to say;
For we did not meet in the holy night,
But in the shameful day.
A prison wall was round us both,
Two outcast men were we:
The world had thrust us from its heart,
And God from out His care:
And the iron gin that waits for Sin
Had caught us in its snare.
III.
In Debtors' Yard the stones are hard,
And the dripping wall is high,
So it was there he took the air
Beneath the leaden sky,
And by each side a Warder walked,
For fear the man might die.
Or else he sat with those who watched
His anguish night and day;
Who watched him when he rose to weep,
And when he crouched to pray;
Who watched him lest himself should rob
Their scaffold of its prey.
The Governor was strong upon
The Regulations Act:
The Doctor said that Death was but
A scientific fact:
And twice a day the Chaplain called
And left a little tract.
And twice a day he smoked his pipe,
And drank his quart of beer:
His soul was resolute, and held
No hiding-place for fear;
He often said that he was glad
The hangman's hands were near.
But why he said so strange a thing
No Warder dared to ask:
For he to whom a watcher's doom
Is given as his task,
Must set a lock upon his lips,
And make his face a mask.
Or else he might be moved, and try
To comfort or console:
And what should Human Pity do
Pent up in Murderers' Hole?
What word of grace in such a place
Could help a brother's soul?
With slouch and swing around the ring
We trod the Fool's Parade!
We did not care: we knew we were
The Devil's Own Brigade:
And shaven head and feet of lead
Make a merry masquerade.
We tore the tarry rope to shreds
With blunt and bleeding nails;
We rubbed the doors, and scrubbed the floors,
And cleaned the shining rails:
And, rank by rank, we soaped the plank,
And clattered with the pails.
We sewed the sacks, we broke the stones,
We turned the dusty drill:
We banged the tins, and bawled the hymns,
And sweated on the mill:
But in the heart of every man
Terror was lying still.
So still it lay that every day
Crawled like a weed-clogged wave:
And we forgot the bitter lot
That waits for fool and knave,
Till once, as we tramped in from work,
We passed an open grave.
With yawning mouth the yellow hole
Gaped for a living thing;
The very mud cried out for blood
To the thirsty asphalte ring:
And we knew that ere one dawn grew fair
Some prisoner had to swing.
Right in we went, with soul intent
On Death and Dread and Doom:
The hangman, with his little bag,
Went shuffling through the gloom
And each man trembled as he crept
Into his numbered tomb.
That night the empty corridors
Were full of forms of Fear,
And up and down the iron town
Stole feet we could not hear,
And through the bars that hide the stars
White faces seemed to peer.
He lay as one who lies and dreams
In a pleasant meadow-land,
The watcher watched him as he slept,
And could not understand
How one could sleep so sweet a sleep
With a hangman close at hand?
But there is no sleep when men must weep
Who never yet have wept:
So we--the fool, the fraud, the knave--
That endless vigil kept,
And through each brain on hands of pain
Another's terror crept.
Alas! it is a fearful thing
To feel another's guilt!
For, right within, the sword of Sin
Pierced to its poisoned hilt,
And as molten lead were the tears we shed
For the blood we had not spilt.
The Warders with their shoes of felt
Crept by each padlocked door,
And peeped and saw, with eyes of awe,
Grey figures on the floor,
And wondered why men knelt to pray
Who never prayed before.
All through the night we knelt and prayed,
Mad mourners of a corpse!
The troubled plumes of midnight were
The plumes upon a hearse:
And bitter wine upon a sponge
Was the savour of Remorse.
The cock crew, the red cock crew,
But never came the day:
And crooked shape of Terror crouched,
In the corners where we lay:
And each evil sprite that walks by night
Before us seemed to play.
They glided past, they glided fast,
Like travellers through a mist:
They mocked the moon in a rigadoon
Of delicate turn and twist,
And with formal pace and loathsome grace
The phantoms kept their tryst.
With mop and mow, we saw them go,
Slim shadows hand in hand:
About, about, in ghostly rout
They trod a saraband:
And the damned grotesques made arabesques,
Like the wind upon the sand!
With the pirouettes of marionettes,
They tripped on pointed tread:
But with flutes of Fear they filled the ear,
As their grisly masque they led,
And loud they sang, and loud they sang,
For they sang to wake the dead.
"Oho!" they cried, "The world is wide,
But fettered limbs go lame!
And once, or twice, to throw the dice
Is a gentlemanly game,
But he does not win who plays with Sin
In the secret House of Shame."
No things of air these antics were
That frolicked with such glee:
To men whose lives were held in gyves,
And whose feet might not go free,
Ah! wounds of Christ! they were living things,
Most terrible to see.
Around, around, they waltzed and wound;
Some wheeled in smirking pairs:
With the mincing step of demirep
Some sidled up the stairs:
And with subtle sneer, and fawning leer,
Each helped us at our prayers.
The morning wind began to moan,
But still the night went on:
Through its giant loom the web of gloom
Crept till each thread was spun:
And, as we prayed, we grew afraid
Of the Justice of the Sun.
The moaning wind went wandering round
The weeping prison-wall:
Till like a wheel of turning-steel
We felt the minutes crawl:
O moaning wind! what had we done
To have such a seneschal?
At last I saw the shadowed bars
Like a lattice wrought in lead,
Move right across the whitewashed wall
That faced my three-plank bed,
And I knew that somewhere in the world
God's dreadful dawn was red.
At six o'clock we cleaned our cells,
At seven all was still,
But the sough and swing of a mighty wing
The prison seemed to fill,
For the Lord of Death with icy breath
Had entered in to kill.
He did not pass in purple pomp,
Nor ride a moon-white steed.
Three yards of cord and a sliding board
Are all the gallows' need:
So with rope of shame the Herald came
To do the secret deed.
We were as men who through a fen
Of filthy darkness grope:
We did not dare to breathe a prayer,
Or give our anguish scope:
Something was dead in each of us,
And what was dead was Hope.
For Man's grim Justice goes its way,
And will not swerve aside:
It slays the weak, it slays the strong,
It has a deadly stride:
With iron heel it slays the strong,
The monstrous parricide!
We waited for the stroke of eight:
Each tongue was thick with thirst:
For the stroke of eight is the stroke of Fate
That makes a man accursed,
And Fate will use a running noose
For the best man and the worst.
We had no other thing to do,
Save to wait for the sign to come:
So, like things of stone in a valley lone,
Quiet we sat and dumb:
But each man's heart beat thick and quick
Like a madman on a drum!
With sudden shock the prison-clock
Smote on the shivering air,
And from all the gaol rose up a wail
Of impotent despair,
Like the sound that frightened marshes hear
From a leper in his lair.
And as one sees most fearful things
In the crystal of a dream,
We saw the greasy hempen rope
Hooked to the blackened beam,
And heard the prayer the hangman's snare
Strangled into a scream.
And all the woe that moved him so
That he gave that bitter cry,
And the wild regrets, and the bloody sweats,
None knew so well as I:
For he who live more lives than one
More deaths than one must die.
IV.
There is no chapel on the day
On which they hang a man:
The Chaplain's heart is far too sick,
Or his face is far to wan,
Or there is that written in his eyes
Which none should look upon.
So they kept us close till nigh on noon,
And then they rang the bell,
And the Warders with their jingling keys
Opened each listening cell,
And down the iron stair we tramped,
Each from his separate Hell.
Out into God's sweet air we went,
But not in wonted way,
For this man's face was white with fear,
And that man's face was grey,
And I never saw sad men who looked
So wistfully at the day.
I never saw sad men who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
We prisoners called the sky,
And at every careless cloud that passed
In happy freedom by.
But their were those amongst us all
Who walked with downcast head,
And knew that, had each go his due,
They should have died instead:
He had but killed a thing that lived
Whilst they had killed the dead.
For he who sins a second time
Wakes a dead soul to pain,
And draws it from its spotted shroud,
And makes it bleed again,
And makes it bleed great gouts of blood
And makes it bleed in vain!
Like ape or clown, in monstrous garb
With crooked arrows starred,
Silently we went round and round
The slippery asphalte yard;
Silently we went round and round,
And no man spoke a word.
Silently we went round and round,
And through each hollow mind
The memory of dreadful things
Rushed like a dreadful wind,
An Horror stalked before each man,
And terror crept behind.
The Warders strutted up and down,
And kept their herd of brutes,
Their uniforms were spick and span,
And they wore their Sunday suits,
But we knew the work they had been at
By the quicklime on their boots.
For where a grave had opened wide,
There was no grave at all:
Only a stretch of mud and sand
By the hideous prison-wall,
And a little heap of burning lime,
That the man should have his pall.
For he has a pall, this wretched man,
Such as few men can claim:
Deep down below a prison-yard,
Naked for greater shame,
He lies, with fetters on each foot,
Wrapt in a sheet of flame!
And all the while the burning lime
Eats flesh and bone away,
It eats the brittle bone by night,
And the soft flesh by the day,
It eats the flesh and bones by turns,
But it eats the heart alway.
For three long years they will not sow
Or root or seedling there:
For three long years the unblessed spot
Will sterile be and bare,
And look upon the wondering sky
With unreproachful stare.
They think a murderer's heart would taint
Each simple seed they sow.
It is not true! God's kindly earth
Is kindlier than men know,
And the red rose would but blow more red,
The white rose whiter blow.
Out of his mouth a red, red rose!
Out of his heart a white!
For who can say by what strange way,
Christ brings his will to light,
Since the barren staff the pilgrim bore
Bloomed in the great Pope's sight?
But neither milk-white rose nor red
May bloom in prison air;
The shard, the pebble, and the flint,
Are what they give us there:
For flowers have been known to heal
A common man's despair.
So never will wine-red rose or white,
Petal by petal, fall
On that stretch of mud and sand that lies
By the hideous prison-wall,
To tell the men who tramp the yard
That God's Son died for all.
Yet though the hideous prison-wall
Still hems him round and round,
And a spirit man not walk by night
That is with fetters bound,
And a spirit may not weep that lies
In such unholy ground,
He is at peace--this wretched man--
At peace, or will be soon:
There is no thing to make him mad,
Nor does Terror walk at noon,
For the lampless Earth in which he lies
Has neither Sun nor Moon.
They hanged him as a beast is hanged:
They did not even toll
A requiem that might have brought
Rest to his startled soul,
But hurriedly they took him out,
And hid him in a hole.
They stripped him of his canvas clothes,
And gave him to the flies;
They mocked the swollen purple throat
And the stark and staring eyes:
And with laughter loud they heaped the shroud
In which their convict lies.
The Chaplain would not kneel to pray
By his dishonoured grave:
Nor mark it with that blessed Cross
That Christ for sinners gave,
Because the man was one of those
Whom Christ came down to save.
Yet all is well; he has but passed
To Life's appointed bourne:
And alien tears will fill for him
Pity's long-broken urn,
For his mourner will be outcast men,
And outcasts always mourn.
V.
I know not whether Laws be right,
Or whether Laws be wrong;
All that we know who lie in goal
Is that the wall is strong;
And that each day is like a year,
A year whose days are long.
But this I know, that every Law
That men have made for Man,
Since first Man took his brother's life,
And the sad world began,
But straws the wheat and saves the chaff
With a most evil fan.
This too I know--and wise it were
If each could know the same--
That every prison that men build
Is built with bricks of shame,
And bound with bars lest Christ should see
How men their brothers maim.
With bars they blur the gracious moon,
And blind the goodly sun:
And they do well to hide their Hell,
For in it things are done
That Son of God nor son of Man
Ever should look upon!
The vilest deeds like poison weeds
Bloom well in prison-air:
It is only what is good in Man
That wastes and withers there:
Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate,
And the Warder is Despair
For they starve the little frightened child
Till it weeps both night and day:
And they scourge the weak, and flog the fool,
And gibe the old and grey,
And some grow mad, and all grow bad,
And none a word may say.
Each narrow cell in which we dwell
Is foul and dark latrine,
And the fetid breath of living Death
Chokes up each grated screen,
And all, but Lust, is turned to dust
In Humanity's machine.
The brackish water that we drink
Creeps with a loathsome slime,
And the bitter bread they weigh in scales
Is full of chalk and lime,
And Sleep will not lie down, but walks
Wild-eyed and cries to Time.
But though lean Hunger and green Thirst
Like asp with adder fight,
We have little care of prison fare,
For what chills and kills outright
Is that every stone one lifts by day
Becomes one's heart by night.
With midnight always in one's heart,
And twilight in one's cell,
We turn the crank, or tear the rope,
Each in his separate Hell,
And the silence is more awful far
Than the sound of a brazen bell.
And never a human voice comes near
To speak a gentle word:
And the eye that watches through the door
Is pitiless and hard:
And by all forgot, we rot and rot,
With soul and body marred.
And thus we rust Life's iron chain
Degraded and alone:
And some men curse, and some men weep,
And some men make no moan:
But God's eternal Laws are kind
And break the heart of stone.
And every human heart that breaks,
In prison-cell or yard,
Is as that broken box that gave
Its treasure to the Lord,
And filled the unclean leper's house
With the scent of costliest nard.
Ah! happy day they whose hearts can break
And peace of pardon win!
How else may man make straight his plan
And cleanse his soul from Sin?
How else but through a broken heart
May Lord Christ enter in?
And he of the swollen purple throat.
And the stark and staring eyes,
Waits for the holy hands that took
The Thief to Paradise;
And a broken and a contrite heart
The Lord will not despise.
The man in red who reads the Law
Gave him three weeks of life,
Three little weeks in which to heal
His soul of his soul's strife,
And cleanse from every blot of blood
The hand that held the knife.
And with tears of blood he cleansed the hand,
The hand that held the steel:
For only blood can wipe out blood,
And only tears can heal:
And the crimson stain that was of Cain
Became Christ's snow-white seal.
VI.
In Reading gaol by Reading town
There is a pit of shame,
And in it lies a wretched man
Eaten by teeth of flame,
In burning winding-sheet he lies,
And his grave has got no name.
And there, till Christ call forth the dead,
In silence let him lie:
No need to waste the foolish tear,
Or heave the windy sigh:
The man had killed the thing he loved,
And so he had to die.
And all men kill the thing they love,
By all let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

2003-04-29T12:59:00.000-03:00

Claro, o dia de amanhã cuidará do dia de manhã e tudo chegará no tempo exato. Mas e o dia de hoje?
Só quero ir junto com as coisas, ir sendo junto com elas, ao mesmo tempo, até um lugar que não sei onde fica, e que você até pode chamar de morte, mas eu chamo apenas de porto.

Caio F. Abreu

2003-04-25T19:39:00.000-03:00

e os comentários estão fora do ar já faz um bom tempo...
ando muito cansado e não estou nem um pouco a fim de consertar isso...
algum dos cadastrados pode fazer isso??

2003-04-24T20:02:00.000-03:00

liiiiindos
festa do Rick domingo, tuuudo de bom
Na, love you so...

2003-04-20T17:20:00.000-03:00

"So Low" vem em seguida e, sem exagero algum, poderia ter sido assinada pela dupla Lennon & McCartney, tamanha a perfeição e sua melodia. Vitor Diniz do Valle

Lembro quando procurava coisas do Ocean Colour Scene na internet, logo após conhecer o Moseley Shoals (acho que foi no fim de 1999), de ter achado uma resenha que lançava os caras lá pra cima, falando muito bem mesmo. Esse texto já tratava do terceiro (quarto, contando o primeiro que eles mesmos desconsideram) álbum, "One from the Modern". Resolvi baixar "So Low" imediatamente, e não tiro nenhuma palavra que o Sr. Valle escreveu acima.

É incrível como esses caras fazem melodias do caralho com apenas três ou quatro acordes. Ashcroft, Craddock/Fowler, Weller e Dylan fazem isso com perfeição.

Resenha completa do "One from the Modern" - OCS

2003-04-20T17:04:00.000-03:00

E agora, uma enquete para ser respondida por quem quiser no espaço do comentário aí (se não quiser responder tb, foda-se!)

O que te deixa mais ansioso:

- aguardar o novo cd do Radiohead

ou

- aguardar um prato quentinho de Miojo??

2003-04-20T16:58:00.000-03:00

O show de ontem foi bem interessante, deu tudo certo, apesar de "Hey Liza" ter ficado irreconhecível... todos os instrumentos desregulados, aquela beleza... bom, pra quem não passou som, foi ótimo... da segunda música pra frente ficou beleza...

Quero agradecer a todos que foram... até o próximo show...!

Eu ia escrever mais coisas, mas perdi a vontade... então, FODA-SE!!!

:)

P.S.: Ah... repeat after me: this is our last SONG!!

2003-04-15T21:01:00.000-03:00

OLHA A GENTE AÍ, QUE BELEZA!!!

19/04 @ FUNHOUSE - SHOW CONFIRMADO!

Vi*, obrigado pela montagem do jpg!!! :)

2003-04-11T21:39:00.000-03:00

Como escrever uma letra do caralho e fazer um guitarrismo melhor ainda? Como? Assim:

- pegue aquele cd do Seahorses (lembra? Aquele que logo quando saiu os "cools" desceram a lenha...), que por sinal é um puta cdzismo, play em "blinded by the sun". Deleite-se com essa iguaria.

Squire e Helme mostrando que os chatismos de Hendrix ou eruditismos não são nem um pouco necessários para tocar/compor bem pra caralho.

How would you feel if I was to kneel right down,
at your feet, right now?
Is the way it’s going to be from
now until to forever,
Let's have less of getting clever with me

Who would you blame for blowing the flame right out?
Is it me?
There is no doubt I can do what I want to do from
now until forever,
Let's have less of getting clever with me

You’re wasting your time
and my time as well la la la living a lie,
I guess that time will tell.
You’re making excuses
'bout the things you never done.
Walking in circles, blinded by the sun.
Blinded the sun.

I don’t mean to sound unkind,
to you.
You just have to go and find
something else to do.
And don’t ask me what went wrong –
the list goes on and on and on and on.
The list goes on and on and on and on.
The list goes on and on.

2003-04-11T19:52:00.000-03:00

êêêêêêêê pobreza...

enquanto eu ficar feliz com essas coisas, terei a certeza que ainda sou pobre...

Johnny Cash + Um cd de bluegrass por 14 biros!!!

Que maravilha!!!

2003-04-08T18:07:00.000-03:00

THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!! THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!! THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!! THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!! THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!! THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!! THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!!THE LAZY SUNDAYS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!!

FUNHOUSE - Delicious
19/04/03
23:00 hs
r. Bela Cintra nº 567 - Consolação - SP
Entrada: R$ 5
Consumação: Homens: R$ 10 / Mulheres: R$ 5

2003-04-08T17:36:00.000-03:00

Chorar por tudo que se perdeu, por tudo que apenas ameaçou e não chegou a ser, pelo que perdi de mim, pelo ontem morto, pelo hoje sujo, pelo amanhã que não existe, pelo muito que amei e não me amaram, pelo que tentei ser correto e não foram comigo. Meu coração sangra com uma dor que não consigo comunicar a ninguém, recuso todos os toques e ignoro todas tentativas de aproximação. Tenho vergonha de gritar que esta dor é só minha, de pedir que me deixem em paz e só com ela, como um cão com seu osso.
A única magia que existe é estarmos vivos e não entendermos nada disso. A única magia que existe é a nossa incompreensão.

Caio Fernando Abreu

Claro, o dia de amanhã cuidará do dia de manhã e tudo chegará no tempo exato. Mas e o dia de hoje?
Só quero ir junto com as coisas, ir sendo junto com elas, ao mesmo tempo, até um lugar que não sei onde fica, e que você até pode chamar de morte, mas eu chamo apenas de porto.

Caio Fernando Abreu

2003-04-08T17:17:00.000-03:00

Quem é esse?!
eu acho que eu já o vi no Superblast?! ou Sound?! ou A Loca?!
será que ele é uma das irmãs Galvão?!!!???!?!!?
eu acho q as vezes ele me parece com o Jack Osbourne, mas não sei não heim....
acho que é algum indie'zinho querendo ser punk ou uma mistura dos dois né....

2003-04-07T19:07:00.000-03:00

olha só quem o bret copia

2003-04-07T19:03:00.000-03:00

There's a club, if you'd like to go
You could meet somebody who really loves you
So you go, and you stand on your own
And you leave on your own
And you go home, and you cry
And you want to die

When you say "that's gonna happen now"
Well, what exactly do you mean ?
See, I've waited too long
And all my hope is gone

2003-04-07T18:49:00.000-03:00

2003-04-04T18:35:00.000-03:00

2003-04-03T17:58:00.000-03:00

bom...

eu ia até dar uma arrumadinha no português de uns posts, mas vai ficar assim mesmo... aquela belezinha!!!
hehehe...

Qto ao rapazim que fazia as músicas, tocava guitarra e ainda cantava no Ride, sinceramente eu achava ele bem melhor em sua banda original, mesmo... fazia ótimas músicas e agora fica quietinho tocando baixo... que desperdício...

Olha o Luiz comentando... depois me passa o seu e-mail para que vc possa postar tb...

Pupi... qual e-mail vc está usando agora??

2003-04-03T15:26:00.000-03:00

Onde esta Nena? a mulher com o suvaco mais cabeludo dos anos 80?!

2003-04-02T22:23:00.000-03:00

O garoto Andy, alguns anos depois de recusar o "frangui com café", se tornou um cara bacana, com belos sapatos, e um cabelo legal, e entrou numa outra bandinha aí...

2003-04-02T22:16:00.000-03:00

Sim, Gosto de Mutantes...
E muito grato pelas fotos, mas definitivamente a última (sem sombra de dúvidas) foi a melhor!

2003-04-02T19:18:00.000-03:00

Estamos de blog novo!! gde merda...
E em breve tb no ar o the Lazy Sundays hpg, um site'zinho com fotos (pq nós somos lindos de mais para ficar no oculto), letras, resenhas, links e tudo mais. Tosco, mas tá valendo, se vc não gostar Foda-se!...até maio sai.
muitas coisas eu quero fazer até maio, ou a partir daí.
Acho que até maio o Lazy fará - finalmente depois de muita reza brava e muitos "...e ai! qdo vai ter show do lazy sundays de novo..." para a chefia do Volume I, um show na funhouse, juntamente com o lançamento da tb finalmente coletânea do vol I e convidados.
Até maio tb - espero - agente lançe um EP'zinho com algumas canções para vcs meus queridos fãs! (hahahahahahaha).
E tb o bonito que aqui vos escreve vai fazer aniverssário! (meu Deus!! estou ficando velho, preciso fazer sucesso logo!).
É, depois disso vamos ver né, se ninguém virar crente ou morrer de overdose (ui..), ai acho que as coisas vão caminhar mais depressa, ou melhor...espero.
Voltamos a ensaiar depois de quase um mês fora do ar, foi legal, ensaiamos uma musica nova "I know" (que ñ é do Placebo!), uma musica bem legal com pegadinhas, hora Stones, hora V.U, ficou mesmo boa. No duro. (como diria Holden Caulfield).

"love is the drug..."

will

2003-04-02T18:54:00.000-03:00

para começar, o ultimo post que eu havia feito no blog antigo e que ninguem viu so a Vi, fotinhas do bowie pq ele é lindo:

estrelas que eu vejo surgir me lembram qdo estavamos lá em cima, olhando para cá e dando risadas dessa gente esquisita...
nos separamos e não nos conhecemos desde que caimos aqui, vc é Deus e eu nada...
vc me ajuda a me encontrar, dentro e fora de mim, qdo estou confuso e perdido...
vamos morrer juntos, mesmo qdo um de nós ainda estiver vivo...
I love you...

the man who sold the world -
db

We passed upon the stair, we spoke of was and when
Although I wasn't there, he said I was his friend
Which came as some surprise
I spoke into his eyes
I thought you died alone,
a long long time ago

Oh no, not me
I never lost control
You're face to face
With The Man Who Sold The World

I laughed and shook his hand and made my way back home
I searched for form and land, for years and years I roamed
I gazed a gazely stare at all the millions here
We must have died along, a long long time ago

Who knows? not me
We never lost control
You're face to face
With The Man who Sold the World

Who knows? not me
We never lost control
You're face to face
With The Man who Sold the World

Liza Jane - King Bees

Well, I got a girl that's so good to me
[Oh, little Liza]
Well, now she ain't more than five foot three
[Oh, little Liza]
Well, this little girl is so good to me
[Oh, little Liza]
Yeah, this little girl's nearly half of me
[Oh, little Liza]

Little Liza Jane

I got a girl, duh-duh-goo-to-duh
[Oh, little Liza]
Yeah, this little girl turn me upside down
[Oh, little Liza]
Well, all of the little girls that I had
[Oh, little Liza]
You know this little girl drives me to despair
[Oh, little Liza]

Little Liza Jane

Yeah, I got a girl who loves me true
[Oh, little Liza]
Now she ain't more than five foot two, yeah
[Oh, little Liza]
You know this little girl is so good for me, yeah
[Oh, little Liza]
You know this little girl's nearly half of me
[Oh, little Liza]

Little Liza Jane

Oh yeah, I love her
Little Liza Jane
Well, I'm coming back to me love
'Cause she's driving insane
When will I meet her

quem não gosta boa pessoa não é...

2003-04-02T16:40:00.000-03:00

calma Willian, deixa de ser histérico e espera dar certo as coisas...
ao invés de ficar falando merda, cala a boca e espera, firmeza??

vc já já vai voltar a postar... :)

2003-04-01T14:33:00.000-03:00

um belo dia um rapazim estava bem nutrido, quando seus amiguinhos convidaram: "vamos comer um franguim com café"?
o rapazim, muito educadamente, respondeu: "NÃO! Agora vou fazer um sonzismo do caralho!!"
e fez:

Ride - Twisterella

Any minute you will feel
The chemistry
Vibrations in the brain
Can't ever be explained
Slip away and out of sigh
Feel the magnet of a night
The circus lights you see
Is where you have to be
If I've seen it all before
Why's this bus taking me back again
If I don't need anymore
Why's this bus taking me back again

Feel the weight of letting go
Feel more lightness than you've ever known
You can't see when light`s so strong
You can't see when light is gone

2003-03-31T14:43:00.000-03:00

os horários estavam todos errados... agora está aquela belezinha!

2003-03-30T21:49:00.000-03:00

AE CARALHO! BEM VINDO AO NOVO BLOG DO "THE LAZY SUNDAYS"!!!

2003-03-30T21:39:00.000-03:00