Algum cansaço – ñ a tôa, a banda acabaria logo após – e outro tanto de indiretas a granel, demonstrado sob anônimo proto-romance rock’n’roll de Jane Austen em “Warehouse: Songs And Stories” (1987):
“Sometimes you feel real old, older than you are. Check the aches and paints, the hairline, the demands of life. Responsibilities, responsibilities. Worse things have happened to all of us: the circus wasn’t as good as you thought it would be, the movie stunk, etc., etc. …
Punching the clock, punching the wall, hating your boss. You can’t go if you don’t know, and you can’t know if you don’t go. And everybody in the world has their own song in their heads. The best songs ever. Problem is figuring a way to get them out and present them to others.
You’ve got to know where the brakes are. Enjoy life as a realistic pace. You crazy youngsters, what with your nightlife and everything. And it’s important to trust other people, while putting stock in yourself as well. Reevaluating your priorities, checking yourself daily.
Not everybody is a victim of circumstance; conversely, nobody should feel like a martyr all the time. Problem? It’s hard enough to communicate these days; some of us don’t even get the chance. Some others don’t know they have a chance.
When you travel frequently, you find a lot of images. And sometimes, you have to try and make the best of a bad situation: more often than not, we grin and bear it. Other times, you learn to enjoy some small facet of your predicament. Nothing too elaborate, just an attempt to adjust priorities. Revolution starts at home, preferably in the bathroom mirror.
Example? Winter always comes too soon. This year was the worst I can remember, except whan I was five years old. Pushed open the front door, got lost in the snow“.