Há quem diga que se deve à calçada portuguesa, verdades urbanas, trunfos da capital.
Fala-me desse pôr-do-sol, que pinta todo o céu de azul escuro a vermelho sangue, passando por lilazes e alaranjados. Daqui nao vejo.
Mística ou Física, rei-sol às riscas.
Sol "Panqueca" S. Pedro de Moel 19Junho 2003
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Neath the bougie a thimble rigger slyly rolls the pea
Bye the bye the bye the bye
Red is patchy snows the silver
Bye the bye the bye the bye
Can't turn from a crotch in the darkness
To turn to the valley of a king
Ja-da ja-da ja-da ja-da jing jing jing
Wrapped in blankets then in blankets
Hear the germs pinging on the night wind
Cross the west coast to the west coast to the west coast
The angelus begins
Eye for hand dye y-et eye bye-t the negro come on sucker anthrax jesus sack of the-b shawl for he-b no bye the bye pulling out won't be slow sorry baby b the needles another night I gotta pull muffle bye no bye the bye by the bye no bye the bye
Neath the bougie a thimble rigger slyly rolls the pea
Bye the bye the bye the bye
Red is patchy snows the silver
Bye the bye the bye the bye
Don't think it hasn't been fun because it hasn't
Donje is Donje in the spring
Ja-da ja-da ja-da ja-da jing jing jing
Hear the blankets! Here come the blankets!
They plunge like rays snapping down the night wind
Cross the east coast to the east coast
Scratch the air and blue burn
The angelus begins
pulling out won't be slow sorry baby staple jesus dreamed he mammoth gathered ye-t bye the bye no bye the bye scaling comes scaling comes red is patchy snows the silver an other night gotta pull muffle bye no bye the bye bye the bye no bye the bye
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