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This is a surreal story. I hope you enjoy it.
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Lyrics
THE PAINTING
By©Bernardo Barreto
It was a bright and sunny Sunday in 1949
The clowns were in the plaza
And the horses were ready to run.
There was a young girl in the crowd
Her dress was shiny and red,
She was from Spain
And her father was recently dead.
I dreamed I was a bullfighter
And saw without a doubt
The shadow of Heminghway
He didn't recognize me
But in my dream he was the bull.
No one knew when I woke up
If I was alive or I was dead
The young girl dressed in red
Kissed me on the lips.
He's warm she said
This man is not really dead
And she took me to her room
Where a midget was fixing the red bed
And we jumped right into it
And proceeded to make love.
All the prostitutes lived there
And were regarded as holy saints
The only Church in town
Was named The Church Of the Holy Whore.
This town looked just like Venice
But the water in the canals was bloody red
Red as the lips of the lady from Spain
It was the blood of the beast they told me
We sacrifice it for the Gods.
I thought it was enough and I decided to wake up
I was now back in the city with a cocktail in my hand
Staring at the painting of a lady from Spain
It was an art reception of a painter from Japan
How could that be possible in 1949?
By©Bernardo Barreto
It was a bright and sunny Sunday in 1949
The clowns were in the plaza
And the horses were ready to run.
There was a young girl in the crowd
Her dress was shiny and red,
She was from Spain
And her father was recently dead.
I dreamed I was a bullfighter
And saw without a doubt
The shadow of Heminghway
He didn't recognize me
But in my dream he was the bull.
No one knew when I woke up
If I was alive or I was dead
The young girl dressed in red
Kissed me on the lips.
He's warm she said
This man is not really dead
And she took me to her room
Where a midget was fixing the red bed
And we jumped right into it
And proceeded to make love.
All the prostitutes lived there
And were regarded as holy saints
The only Church in town
Was named The Church Of the Holy Whore.
This town looked just like Venice
But the water in the canals was bloody red
Red as the lips of the lady from Spain
It was the blood of the beast they told me
We sacrifice it for the Gods.
I thought it was enough and I decided to wake up
I was now back in the city with a cocktail in my hand
Staring at the painting of a lady from Spain
It was an art reception of a painter from Japan
How could that be possible in 1949?
I really like your voice.... And it has a good groove... The guitars sounds great... Thanks for sharing this....