Seguimos con los marineros... The Pogues

"Nunca se va tan lejos, como cuando no se sabe dónde se va"
Oliver Cromwell, político inglés (1599-1658)

The Pogues cantan la maravillosa "Drunken boat"
Ojo a la poética letra de James Fearnley. Cuenta la historia de un chico que decide hacerse a la mar y le pasan mil aventuras por esos mares de dios, va de Macao a Acapulco y de La Habana a Sevilla, brinda con unos rusos por el Zar...

The wind was whipping shingle through the windows in the town. A hail of stones across the roof, the slates came raining down. A blade of light upon the spit came sweeping through the roar. With me head inise a barrel and me leg screwed in the floor. Mother pack me bags because I'm off to foreign parts. Don't ask me where I'm going 'cause I'm sure it's off the charts. I'll pin your likeness on the wall right buy my sleeping head. I'll send you cards and letters so you'll know that I'm not dead. By this time in a week I should be far away from home. Trailing fingers through the phospor or asleep in flowers of foam From Macao to Acapulco from Havana to Seville. We'll see monoliths and bridges and the Christ up on the hill. An aria with the Russians at the piano in the bar. With icefloes through the window we raised glasses to the Czar. We squared off on a dockside with a coupled hundred Finns. And we dallied in the 'dilly and we stoaked ourselves in gin. Now the only deck I'd want to walk. Are the stalks of corn beneath my feet. And the only sea I want to sail. Is the darkned pond in the scented dusk. Where a kid crouced full of sadness. Lets his boat go drifting out. Into the evening sun We sailed through constellations and were rutted by the storm. I crumpled under cudgel blows and finally came ashore. I spent the next two years or more just staring at the wall. We went to sea to see the world and what d'you think we saw? If we turned the table upside down and sailed around the bed. Clamped knives between our teeth and tied bandannas round our heads. With the wainscot our horizon and the ceiling as the sky. You'd not expect that anyone would go and fucking die. At nights we passed the bottle round and drank to our lost friends. We lay alone upon our bunks and prayed that this would end. A wall of moving shadows with rows of swinging keys. We dreamed that whole Leviathans lay rotting in the weeds. There's a sound that comes from miles away if you lean your head to hear. A ship's bell rings on board a wreck where the air is still and clear. And up in heaven that means another angel's got his wings. But all below it signifies is a ship's gone in the drink.

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