lunes, 22 de junio de 2009

Con buena letra 2: Dirty Boulevard by Lou Reed

No parece el tipo más simpático del mundo ni de lejos. Su descomunal ego y carácter agrio le han labrado una reputación de borde bien merecida. Moviéndose siempre con la vanguardia y con un aire intelectual, que en ciertos circulos le perjudica mucho, no se puede obviar que Lou Reed es uno de los mejores escritores de canciones del rock. Tanto en su etapa con la Velvet como en su carrera en solitario hay multitud de canciones que nos muestran que en el rock´n roll en ocasiones puede haber incluso buena literatura. Poco sujetos como Lou han penetrado con tanto acierto en la Gran Manzana. Del imprescindible New York ahí va Dirty Boulevard.
Pedro lives out of the wilshire hotel
He looks out a window without glass
The walls are made of cardboard, newspapers on his feet
His father beats him cause hes too tired to beg

Hes got 9 brothers and sistersTheyre brought up on their knees
Its hard to run when a coat hanger beats you on the thighs
Pedro dreams of being older and killing the old man
But thats a slim chance hes going to the boulevard

Hes going to end up, on the dirty boulevardHes going out, to the dirty boulevard
Hes going down, to the dirty boulevard
This room cost 2,000 dollars a month
You can believe it man its true
Somewhere a landlords laughing till he wets his pants
No one here dreams of being a doctor or a lawyer or anything
They dream of dealing on the dirty boulevard
Give me your hungry, your tired your poor
Ill piss on emThats what the statue of bigotry says
Your poor huddled masses, lets club em to death
And get it over with and just dump em on the boulevard

Get to end up, on the dirty boulevard
Going out, to the dirty boulevard
Hes going down, on the dirty boulevard
Going out Outside its a bright night

Theres an opera at lincoln center
Movie stars arrive by limousine
The klieg lights shoot up over the skyline of manhattan
But the lights are out on the mean streets

A small kid stands by the lincoln tunnel
Hes selling plastic roses for a buck
The traffics backed up to 39th street
The tv whores are calling the cops out for a suck

And back at the wilshire,
Pedro sits there dreaming
Hes found a book on magic in a garbage can
He looks at the pictures and stares at the cracked ceiling

At the count of 3 he says, I hope I can disappear
And fly fly away, from this dirty boulevard
I want to fly, from dirty boulevardI want to fly,
from dirty boulevardI want to fly-fly-fly-fly, from dirty boulevard

I want to fly awayI want to flyFly, fly awayI want to fly
Fly-fly away (fly a-)Fly-fly-fly (-way, ooohhh...)Fly-fly away (I want to fly-fly away)Fly away (I want to fly, wow-woh, no, fly away)