CHINA’S ANCIENT WORK DATABASE

(mais um da série de textos surgidos a partir de músicas, a da vez foi essa, feito pare ser lido junto / made to be read with)

Deep in the meadow
Where justice has no face
A group of women gather
They cleanse souls by their waist
Soaking clothes and feelings within the river’s wake
Do they slave, the wind whispers and goes away

Such sheepishly synchronism satisfy
The rattle of the bones
Come sounds of tweaking twigs and twines inside
For a second the figure of a boy appears
Summed or summoned by
The world destroyed
The ball in his arms is now rolling hard
He holds the world’s heart in his mouth
Such a threat, it can fall any minute now
He holds the river’s gaze with his feet
Such a sprout, a runner, no trying to keep the eye’s wit.

And the river smiles and obeys
When the boy says
It is time to stop and flow the other way
The women harness silence
They still play a role
But whether to keep or not cleaning their clothes
They do not know
The ball falls in and floats in reverse
I hear them birds are singing
Sending chills on them dusty bones
Awake thy women!, hear the laughter
Of the sun, preoccupy thyselves only
With what thy hath to learn from yer sons

The boy gets the ball without
Laying one finger in the river’s fur and fleas
Way into the meadow
Catching on with the last of summer’s breeze

The women say goodbye whilst forgetting the land’s deeds and pleas and prides
Whimsical truth and lies
You never know which tide the river sides

China meets and strives
With the remainders of the world’s ancient work database
Will the future bring us new songs?
With the burrming of erhu, pipa, guzheng and dizi flutes?
Will history be brought back to life in the hallelujah mountain’s sight?
The world whirls, cries and chimes
It does not want to sing songs
Of craft and love
Starve no more
Thus it is time to be put to bed
And China is kept where it rests
Deep in the meadow
Tangled up in the web
Cradled and broken by theirown’s and some USA global nest.

The women say goodbye whilst knowing time has not yet come
In truth, the child is still in the belly
Harvesting strength, fighting demise
Awaiting the birth of a-new stallion
Running a-far and wise
A-free from one thousand and three hundred and fifty-seven billion sappy tearful lines.

I hear them birds are singing
Do they suffer while they sing?
Hence their loveliness begetters time and reason and
Men likewise?
I do not know
My dress
My soul
Everything is soaked
I put them up to dry
Together with the women’s right and fairness for life.
May it dry
May future be warm and bright.

As we walk out one evening
Where desire does not meet salvation
And the river awaits for its salute
I lay with the boy
Alas
At least we are both blessed
Filled with joy.

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