LOST IN THE FLOOD (BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN)

Hace un rato estaba estirada en la cama, leyendo el último número de la revista dedicada al BOSS, llamada "Stone Pony". En ella hablaban del 20 aniversario de el BORN IN USA y hacían un pequeño reportaje sobre Asbury Park (la ciudad adoptiva del Brusi. Bueno, más que ciudad... pueblucho de miedda xD). Este pueblo de la costa de Nueva Jersey da nombre al primer cd que sacó Brusi nel 73, llamado Greetings from Asbury Park. Así que mientras leía la revista, miraba las fotos y me acordaba de la breve (pero intensa) visita que hice a Asbury Park en Julio, me he puesto este cd. En el hay grandes joyas como SPIRIT IN THE NIGHT, BLINDED BY THE LIGHT o LOST IN THE FLOOD. Que bueno... es una peaso cansión por dos motivos: Porque dura como seis minutos xD y porque es genial. Es tranquilica, empieza suave y poco a poco va entrando el ajetreo. La canción habla de un tiroteo en un barrio de mala muerte.

Pa esta canción he cojido una foto de la época. La E Street Band originaria. Vini López (el mostachudo con bigote de detras de Garry Tallent) que tocaba la batería y el otro chico negro de gafas (que ahora pispo no m’acueldo del nombre) que tocaba la guitarra; abandonaron el grupo y en sus lugares entraron (respectivamente) Max Weinberg y el amiguisimo del Boss, Steve Van Zandt.

Vamos... frikada del quince :P

Lost in the flood

The ragamuffin gunner is returnin’ home like a hungry runaway
He walks through town all alone
He must be from the fort he hears the high school girls say
His countryside’s burnin’ with wolfman fairies dressed in drag for homicide
The hit and run, plead sanctuary,`neath a holy stone they hide
They’re breakin’ beams and crosses with a spastic’s reelin’ perfection
nuns run round through Vatican halls pregnant, pleadin’ immaculate conception
And everybody’s wrecked on Main Street from drinking unholy blood
Sticker smiles sweet as gunner breathes deep, his ankles caked in mud
And I said "Hey, gunner man, that’s quicksand, that’s quicksand that ain’t mud
Have you thrown your senses to the war or did you lose them in the flood?"

That pure American brother, dull-eyed and empty-faced
races Sundays in Jersey in a Chevy stock super eight
He rides `er low on the hip, on the side he’s got Bound For Glory
in red, white and blue flash paint
He leans on the hood telling racing stories, the kids call him Jimmy The Saint
Well the blaze and noise boy, he’s gunnin’ that bitch loaded to blastin’ point
He rides head first into a hurricane and disappears into a point
And there’s nothin’ left but some blood where the body fell
That is, nothin’ left that you could sell
just junk all across the horizon, a real highwayman’s farewell
And he said "Hey kid, you think that’s oil? Man, that ain’t oil that’s blood"
I wonder what he was thinking when he hit that storm
Or was he just lost in the flood?

Eighth Avenue sailors in satin shirts they whisper in the air
Some storefront incarnation of Maria, she’s puttin’ on me the stare
and Bronx’s best apostle stands with his hand on his own hardware
Everything stops, you hear five, quick shots, the cops come up for air
And now the whiz-bang gang from uptown, they’re shootin’ up the street
And that cat from the Bronx starts lettin’ loose
and gets blown right off his feet
And some kid comes blastin’ round the corner but a cop puts him right away
He lays on the street holding his leg screaming something in Spanish
He still breathing when I walked away
And somebody said "Hey man did you see that? His body hit the street with such a beautiful thud"
I wonder what that dude was sayin’ or was he just lost in the flood?
They said "Hey man, did you see that, those poor cats are sure fucked up"
I wonder what they were gettin’ into, or were they just lost in the flood?