Bluz Toma Troberta

Tragovi parfema na staroj košulji umrljanoj krvlju i viskijem
Laku noć čistačima ulica, noćobdijama, lučonošama
A laku noć i Matildi

Ponekad zaista nema šta veliko da se priča, jer muzika sve sama kaže onima koji umeju da slušaju. Hajde da pokušamo.

Za danas sam vam priredio iznenađenje. I to veliko.

Elem, neću vas danas zadržavati svojim skribomanskim tiradama. Čak i mene ova muzika ućutkuje. Samo jedan detalj, pa da se sklonim:

– * –

Wasted and wounded, it ain’t what the moon did,
I’ve got what I paid for now
See you tomorrow,
Hey Frank, can I borrow a couple of bucks from you
To go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You’ll go waltzing Mathilda with me

I’m an innocent victim of a blinded alley
And I’m tired of all these soldiers here
No one speaks English, and everything’s broken,
And my Stacys are soaking wet
To go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You’ll go waltzing Mathilda with me

Now the dogs are barking and the taxi cab’s parking
A lot they can do for me
I begged you to stab me, you tore my shirt open,
And I’m down on my knees tonight
Old Bushmill’s I staggered, you’d bury the dagger
In your silhouette window light go
To go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You’ll go waltzing Mathilda with me

Now I lost my Saint Christopher now that I’ve kissed her
And the one-armed bandit knows
And the maverick Chinamen, and the cold-blooded signs,
And the girls down by the strip-tease shows, go
Waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You’ll go waltzing Mathilda with me

No, I don’t want your sympathy, the fugitives say
That the streets aren’t for dreaming now
And manslaughter dragnets
And the ghosts that sell memories,
They want a piece of the action anyhow
Go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You’ll go waltzing Mathilda with me

And you can ask any sailor,
And the keys from the jailor,
And the old men in wheelchairs know
And Mathilda’s the defendant,
She killed about a hundred,
And she follows wherever you may go
Waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You’ll go waltzing Mathilda with me

And it’s a battered old suitcase to a hotel someplace,
And a wound that will never heal
No prima donna, the perfume is on an
Old shirt that is stained with blood and whiskey
And goodnight to the street sweepers,
The night watchmen flame keepers
And goodnight to Mathilda, too

– * –

E, tako.

Ponekad zaista nema šta veliko da se priča, jer muzika sve sama kaže onima koji umeju da slušaju. I zato: neka sluša ko ima uši; neka čuje ko ima dušu. Sve je između redova. Sve.

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