Será la luz cegadora

Take me out tonight
Where there's music and there's people
Who are young and alive
Driving in your car
I never never want to go home
Because I haven't got one anymore

Take me out tonight
Because I want to see people
And I want to see life
Driving in your car
Oh please don't drop me home
Because it's not my home, it's their home
And I'm welcome no more

And if a double-decker bus
Crashes into us
To die by your side
Is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten ton truck
Kills the both of us
To die by your side
Well the pleasure, the privilege is mine

Take me out tonight
Take me anywhere, I don't care
I don't care, I don't care
And in the darkened underpass
I thought Oh God, my chance has come at last
But then a strange fear gripped me
And I just couldn't ask

Take me out tonight
Oh take me anywhere, I don't care
I don't care, I don't care
Driving in your car
I never never want to go home
Because I haven't got one
No, I haven't got one

And if a double-decker bus
Crashes in to us
To die by your side
Is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten ton truck
Kills the both of us
To die by your side
Well the pleasure, the privilege is mine

There is a light that never goes out
There is a light that never goes out
There is a light that never goes out
There is a light that never goes out

[The Smiths]

Fondo azul, azul de pueblo marinero. Puertas, contraventanas y el balcón. Azules.
Los muebles desvencijados guardan las historias de las vidas que pasaron. Y un cuadro del Shisha Pangma dominando el salón, sueño indomable, inalcanzable; entre las nieves de sus cumbres el viento atraviesa el lienzo y silba entre los metales colgados del aparador de la cocina.

Muros encalados, y un pie que se apoya, cabeza relajada, viendo pasar la vida. Ritmo de acordeón.
Al compás de la vida tranquila, la luz del sol se filtra entre los árboles de la plaza. No hay prisa.

Y pasa ella. Contoneante, sonrisa esquiva. Ahora el ritmo lo lleva ella. Sus dientes son la guía, que me ocultan o muestran el camino. Se esconde, pintando cuadros con brocha gorda.
Pero bailarás, bailaremos, al son de nuestro acordeón. No hay prisa.

Lantana – Cuando se acabe el mundo