Mercredi 04 octobre 2006

Mais alors le mardi, je vous raconte pas. Rire gras, sans surprise…



"She was born in November 1963
The day Aldous Huxley died
And her mama believed
That everyone could be free
So her mama got high high high

And her daddy marched on Birmingham
Singing mighty protest songs
And he pictured all the places

Where he knew that she'd belong
He failed and taught her young
The only thing she'd need to know
To carry on
He taught her how to

Run baby run baby run baby run
Past the arms of the familiar
And their talk of better days
To the comfort of the strangers
Slipping out before they say
So long
Baby loves to run

She counts out all her money
In the taxi on the way to meet her plane
Stares hopeful out the window
At the workers fighting
Through the pouring rain

She's searching through the stations
For an unfamiliar song
And she pictures all the places
Where she knows she still belongs
And she smiles the secret smile
Because she knows exactly how
To carry on

So run baby run baby run baby run
From the old familiar faces and
Their old familiar ways
To the comfort of the strangers
Slipping out before they say
So long
Baby loves to run" (source)

Sheryl Crow, Run baby run