The morning sun touched lightly on the eyes of Lucy Jordan
In a white suburban bedroom in a white suburban town
As she lay there neath the covers dreaming of a thousand lovers
Till the world turned to orange and the room went spinning round.
At the age of thirty-seven she realised shed never
Ride through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair.
So she let the phone keep ringing and she sat there softly singing
Little nursery rhymes shed memorised in her daddys easy chair.
Her husband, he's off to work and the kids are off to school,
And there are, oh, so many ways for her to spend the day.
She could clean the house for hours or rearrange the flowers
Or run naked through the shady street screaming all the way.
At the age of thirty-seven she realised shed never
Ride through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair
So she let the phone keep ringing as she sat there softly singing
Pretty nursery rhymes she'd memorised in her daddy's easy chair.
The evening sun touched gently on the eyes of Lucy Jordan
On the roof top where she climbed when all the laughter grew too loud
And she bowed and curtsied to the man who reached and offered her his hand,
And he led her down to the long white car that waited past the crowd.
At the age of thirty-seven she knew she'd found forever
As she rode along through Paris with the warm wind in her hair ...
In a white suburban bedroom in a white suburban town
As she lay there neath the covers dreaming of a thousand lovers
Till the world turned to orange and the room went spinning round.
At the age of thirty-seven she realised shed never
Ride through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair.
So she let the phone keep ringing and she sat there softly singing
Little nursery rhymes shed memorised in her daddys easy chair.
Her husband, he's off to work and the kids are off to school,
And there are, oh, so many ways for her to spend the day.
She could clean the house for hours or rearrange the flowers
Or run naked through the shady street screaming all the way.
At the age of thirty-seven she realised shed never
Ride through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair
So she let the phone keep ringing as she sat there softly singing
Pretty nursery rhymes she'd memorised in her daddy's easy chair.
The evening sun touched gently on the eyes of Lucy Jordan
On the roof top where she climbed when all the laughter grew too loud
And she bowed and curtsied to the man who reached and offered her his hand,
And he led her down to the long white car that waited past the crowd.
At the age of thirty-seven she knew she'd found forever
As she rode along through Paris with the warm wind in her hair ...
Ficha técnica: Thelma and Louis, by Ridley Scott
Dan ganas de volver a ver Thelma & Louis. Qué fuerza tiene ese final. Y esa relación entre las amigas.
ResponderEliminarQué poderoso ese salto a la muerte con alegría
(después de conocer la libertad, ya no puedes volver a la jaula),
las manos cogidas.
Qué embriaguez de amor y de vida
hay en esa muerte.
Es admirable que por conservar la libertad que otros quieren arrebatarte llegues a darlo todo. Las personas así, más allá de las leyes de los hombres, van derechas al Cielo. Ése es el lugar hacia el que vuela el coche en el que viajan Thelma y Louise. Fer.
ResponderEliminarLa película acaba con el coche por los aires. Es un final que no cambiaría, pero os he puesto un final feliz. Sería maravilloso poder dar un salto que nos acercara a un mundo mejor en vez de a la nada.
ResponderEliminarLa canción era la estrella de la entrada, pero ha quedado relegada. Me conmueve la historia que cuenta. Nada infrecuente, por otra parte.
Un beso a los dos, Marié y Fer.
Ése es el lugar hacia el que vuela el coche en el que viajan Thelma y Louise.
ResponderEliminarQué bonito, Fer.
Con ese convencimiento, quién puede tener miedo de ese viaje?
Puede que algún dia, en algún sitio, no haya que volar aunque sea de la forma que lo hacen Telma y Louis para poder ser libres y poder vivir como uno mismo quiera sin miedos a nada ni a nadie.
ResponderEliminarSí, Uma, quizás aquí mismo, hoy.
ResponderEliminarPor qué no probar, a ver qué pasa?
A veces choca y puede causar algún problema pero, a veces, arranca sonrisas, abrazos, y contagios...
Yo creo que merece la pena probar a ser lo libre que una pueda (y me refiero a lo que sepamos ser más que lo que nos dejen), afrontando los miedos.
Ya sé que no siempre es fácil.
Pero qué podemos perder? ¿La vida que no queremos vivir?