Dirty Boulevard
Pedro lives out of the Wilshire Hotel.
He looks out of the window without a glass.
The walls are made of cardboard,
newspapers on his feet.
And his father beats 'im
'cause he's too tired to beg.
He's got nine brothers and sisters,
they're brought up on their knees.
It's hard to run
when a coat hanger hits you on the thighs.
Pedro dreams of being older
and killin' the old man
but that's a slim chance.
He's going to the boulevard.
He's going under -on the dirty boulevard.
He's going out -to the dirty boulevard.
He's going down -to the dirty boulevard.
This room costs two thousand dollars a month,
you can believe it, man, it's true.
Somewhere a landlord is laughin'
'till he wets his pants.
No one dreams of being a doctor, a lawyer,
o' anything,
they dream a' dealing on the dirty boulevard
Give me your hungry,
your tired, your poor
-I'll piss on 'em
-that's what the statue of bigotry says.
Your poor huddled masses,
let's club 'em to death,
and get it over with,
so they don't come out on the boulevard.
Get 'em out -on the dirty boulevard.
Going out -to the dirty boulevard.
They're going down -on the dirty boulevard.
-Going out.
Outside it's a bright night,
there's 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,
he's selling plastic roses for a buck.
The traffic's backed up to 39 St.
The TV whores are callin' the cops out
for a suck.
And back to Wilshire Pedro sits there
dreaming,
He's found a book on magic
in a garbage can.
He looks at the pictures and stares
at the cracked ceiling.
At the count of three, he says,
I hope I can disappear
and fly, fly away from this dirty boulevard.
I want to fly-ee-i from the dirty boulevard.
I want to fly from the dirty boulevard.
I want to fly, fly, fly, fly!
I want to fly away.
I want to fly.
Fly, fly awa-ee-ay
...
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Bulervar sucio
Pedro vive á beira do Hotel Wilshire.
Mira afóra pola fiestra sen cristal.
As paredes están feitas de cartón,
periódicos sobre os seus pés.
E o seu pai bate nel,
porque vai canso de máis para suplicar.
Tén nove irmáns e irmás,
medran postos de xeonllos.
É difícil correr
cando unha percha che peta nas coxas.
Pedro soña con ser maior
e matar ó vello,
pero esa é unha posibilidade remota.
El vai ó bulevar suxo.
Cae no bulevar suxo.
Sae ó bulevar suxo.
Baixa ó bulevar suxo.
Esta habitación custa dous mil dólares ó mes,
podes crelo, meu, é certo.
Nalgures un caseiro está rindo
ata que molla os calzóns.
Ninguén soña con ser médico, avogado,
ou nada,
Soñan con traficar no bulevar suxo.
Dádeme os vosos famentos,
os vosos cansos, os vosos pobres
mexarei por eles
iso é o que di a estatua da intolerancia
As vosas multitudes amoreadas de pobres,
batamos neles ata que morran
e acabemos dunha vez
e así non sairán ó bulevar.
Sacalos ó bulevar suxo.
Saindo ó bulevar suxo.
Eles están baixando ó bulevar suxo.
Saindo.
Afóra a noite é brillante,
hai unha ópera no Lincoln Center
As estrelas do cine chegan en limusinas.
As luces de klieg
dispáranse sobre a liña do ceo de Manhattan
pero as luces están apagadas
nas rúas miserables.
Hai un rapaz pequeno á beira do túnel Lincoln
vendendo rosas de plástico por vinte pesos.
O tráfico está bloqueado ata a rúa 39.
As putas da tele ofrecénlles ós polis
unha mamada.
E de volta a Wilshire Pedro senta alí,
soñando.
Vén de atopar un libro de maxia
nun contenedor do lixo.
Olla os debuxos
e mira para o teito escachado.
Á de tres, di el,
oxalá desapareza
e voe, voe alén deste bulevar suxo.
Quero marchar voando do bulevar suxo.
Quero marchar voando do bulevar suxo.
Quero voar, voar, voar, voar!
Quero marchar voando.
Quero voar.
Voar, marchar voando
...
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Casdeiro
Cando o río medra é porque chove desde hai moito na
montaña.