Pesquisa personalizada

10 de março de 2004


Há umas semanas vi o disco na Fnac e perguntei-me porque é que um "best of" com dez anos voltava aos escaparates das novidades. Deixei-o na memória e no outro dia fui buscá-lo para reouvir duas ou três canções que considero obras maiores do storytelling rock norte-americano. Hoje vi a campanha de televisão e percebi porque é que o disco estava em destaque.

Bob Seger nunca foi tão extraordinário como Bruce Springsteen, mas quando acertou - e acertou sempre pelo menos uma ou duas vezes por disco - conseguia convocar a energia mitológica e inteira do sonho americano, o heroísmo quotidiano de viver no dia-a-dia e transcender-se nos sonhos nocturnos. Em 1991 escreveu uma canção que é uma daquelas pedras-de-toque que definem, mais do que um compositor, um letrista de fulgurante poesia cinemática como só nas "streets of fire" americanas é possível existir. Gostava de escrever algo assim tão magnífico.

there's a hard moon risin' on the streets tonight
there's a reckless feeling in your heart as you head out tonight
through the concrete canyons to the midtown lights
where the latest neon promises are burning bright

past the open windows on the darker streets
where unseen angry voices flash and children cry
past the phony posers with their worn out lines
the tired new money dressed to the nines
the low life dealers with their bad designs
and the dilettantes with their open minds

you're out on the town
safe in the crowd
ready to go for the ride
searching the eyes
looking for clues
there's no way you can hide

the fire inside

well you've been to the clubs and the discothèques
where they deal one another from the bottom of a deck of promises
where the cautious loners and emotional wrecks
do an acting stretch as a way to hide the obvious
and the lights go down and they dance real close
and for one brief instant they pretend they're safe and warm

then the beat gets louder and the mood is gone
the darkness scatters as the lights flash on
they hold one another just a little too long
and they move apart and then move on

on to the street
on to the next
safe in the knowledge that they tried
faking the smile
hiding the pain
never satisfied

the fire inside

now the hour is late and he thinks you're asleep
you listen to him dress and you listen to him leave like you knew he would
you hear his car pull away in the street
then you move to the door and you lock it when he's gone for good

then you walk to the window and stare at the moon
riding high and lonesome through a starlit sky
and it comes to you how it all slips away
youth and beauty are gone one day
no matter what you dream or feel or say
it ends in dust and disarray

like wind on the plains
sand through the glass
waves rolling in with the tide
dreams die hard
and we watch them erode
but we cannot be denied

the fire inside.

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