If life was a song,
it would be rocking all night long
it would be sighing without a word
’bout all the pain, ’bout all the hurt.
If life was just a melody
not even one note in it could be really free
they’d all be prisoned in their beat,
there’d be no justice, no more seed.
If life could be sung
out of the deepest deeps of your lungs
it would be hard to breathe some air
’cause oxygen had left to nowhere.
If living would mean singing all day long,
tell me what this song was about!
About people, small, fat and strong,
faithful, chicken-hearted, full of doubt?
Or would life write notes telling stories
of popes, bushs and kings with their glory?
You should mention destruction, desaster
and time, running away just faster and faster.
Life would be singing, seeming endlessly,
we’d suppose to compose a part of the melody.
And even if some of its parts were really strong –
it wouldn’t be more than three minutes long.