مجموع شدن و ماندن...
دارم به آخرین نت ِ consolation اثر لیست فکر می کنم و به پیانوی ِ تیتراژ ِ پایانی ِ چشمه.
History repeats itselfCoiling down into the future/
When it's one second to twelve/
The hands touch and follow deeper/
History repeats itself/I didn't learn,/
I wouldn't listenI couldn't see the books were on the shelf/
For my consent, I never missed 'em/
Wish I was standing by the shore/Feel the wind blow in my face/Seethe waves roll in for an encore/
They take a bow, they know their place/
I do not want, I do not feel/
I've turned inwards on myself/
I can't find anything that's real/
But history repeats itself /
۱ نظر:
He is watching the music with his eyes closed.
Hearing the piano like a man moving
through the woods thinking by feeling.
The orchestra up in the trees, the heart below,
step by step. The music hurrying sometimes,
but always returning to quiet, like the man
remembering and hoping. It is a thing in us,
mostly unnoticed. There is somehow a pleasure
in the loss. In the yearning. The pain
going this way and that. Never again.
Never bodied again. Again the never.
Slowly. No undergrowth. Almost leaving.
A humming beauty in the silence.
The having been. Having had. And the man
knowing all of him will come to the end.
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