Besides the original instrumental version, check also the older and beautiful vocal version of Annie Smart that she created on a much more sentimental tone: https://soundcloud.com/annie-smart-1/dont-say-goodbye-by-david-dunham-and-annie-smart

DON'T SAY GOODBYE

In the flatness of your mind,
in the slamming of the door,
goodbye is a platitude.
But the world is round, baby.
The geodesic you took 
is already bringing you back.

So never say goodbye.
It's a lie.
Shame on me.
Shame on you.
And it can even get worse
if time is closed too.

In the flatness of our souls,
in the seclusion of our pride,
goodbye seems a certitude.
But love will come around, baby.
It tends to find a way,
a path to make our lifes anew.

Don't Say Goodbye (Based on David Dunham Instrumental - feat. Debra Buesking)

I created and sang this text and vocals myself, but a female singer with a warm soft voice would be ideal for this track. Any suggestions?
 
** The Glass Forest **

Now I need  to thank you for this most pleasant evening
in that charming restaurant,
and I agree: Serrated knifes are just perfect for steaks.

Really? What makes you think this road is creepy?
It's dark, for sure,
but it's just a twenty minutes walk to town.
Oh, yes! I've heard about the brutal killings,
the stabbed corpses.
I read the news.
They suspect there are two killers, actually. 

That's peculiar... Do you really want to have right now 
a glass of red wine in this cold dark forest?
Well, why not?
Girls enjoy surprises, you know...

This is a fascinating situation.
You see, I saw you stealing a knife when we left the restaurant,
and I saw you hide it in your jacket.
Now, guess what...
I stole a knife, too.

The Glass Forest (JFC Vocals over Debra Buesking track)

This is a much more flamengo-style arrangement of Lavemonos Los Dientes, kindly created by Dan after he added a guitar to the original arrangement.

Yo queria besarte locamente, sentir la eternidad en cada instante,
el espacio infinito localmente, en cada rincon ver tu semblante,
mirar tu semblante.
Ni todo es capaz de enamorarse, ni de todo se enamora el capaz.
Pero en este momento transcendente,
en que sueno besarte a cada instante,
una sola cosa es importante:
Si nos vamos a besar, lavemonos los dientes.
Ni todo es capaz de enamorarse, ni de todo se enamora el capaz.
Yo queria besarte localmente.
Si nos vamos a besar, lavemonos los dientes.

Lavemonos Los Dientes (Dan Van den Berg Arrangement)

I wish I could find the words to sing my father's name.
But words seem short of meaning
and meaning so short of time
to explain eternity.

From the very first beginning,
the oldest common ancestor,
life has clinged to this rock,
the third nearest to our Sun.

And, as life came out of silence
and slowly came to existence,
the blind future was replaced
by dreams that wanted to be.

And so we're born out of miracles,
out of countless near misses,
a mix of nature and nurture,
of lucky chances and choices.

Now I wish this Autumn leaves 
could bring forth my father's voice
to bring me some words of wisdom
in this world bound to extinction.

For, when he took the decision
to bring up a family,
he added a few more notes
to a timeless symphony.

And, in each of the precious moments
that my father played with me,
I knew that we were repeating
the chords of eternity.

I Wish (JFC singing Over Debra's Piano Piece)

Here I sing a  wonderful poem written by my late father.

Pelo vale do Amazonas seguimos ínvias trilhas,
que antes de nós bem poucos haviam percorrido,
para ao fim testemunhar incríveis maravilhas,
a cena alucinante desse mundo perdido.

Eu, Malone, Lorde Roxton, e esses dois irascíveis
mestres da zoologia, Challenger e Summerlee,
vivemos nessa terra aventuras terríveis
num ambiente de sonho, que nunca mais esqueci.

Não irei relatá-las. O livro que as condensa,
encimado pelo nome de Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,
dá conta dessa estada incrível, na suspensa
extensão a que chamámos terra de Mapple White.

Por razões evidentes, ocultámos do mundo 
o exacto percurso da bem longa viagem,
para que o tempo conserve, erguida além ao fundo,
incólume, essa terra primitiva e selvagem.

Muitas noites, sozinho, sorvendo uma bebida,
e olhando a enovelar-se o fumo de um charuto,
vem-me à mente a visão dessa terra perdida,
e dos espantosos seres cujo ruído ainda escuto.

E já não sei dizer, olhando a sala escura,
na sua confortável penumbra sossegada,
se fui eu quem viveu essa estranha aventura,
ou se colho o reflexo de uma vida sonhada.

Mundo Perdido

The time we are given in this life is the crosswalk of our crossing. This song is part of the Mediterrâneo sequence.

PASSADEIRA

Parei o carro, que a passadeira é para parar.
Principalmente quando é um velhinho a atravessar.
Tremem-lhe as pernas, na tentativa de acelerar o passo minúsculo.
E eu até duvido que ele vá chegar ao outro lado,
a qualquer rua, a qualquer lugar.
Falta-lhe o tempo num mundo feito para circular.
E ele sacode o corpo, na tentativa de me acenar,
a agradecer-me a paciência do meu esperar.
E fez-se tarde, e eu vou ter mesmo que acelerar nesta viagem,
rumo a um futuro crepuscular,
que cruza a estrada de um deus que espera sem me apitar,
porque a minha vida vida é a passadeira do meu passar.

E fez-se tarde no meu passar.
Tremem as pernas no meu passar.
Tropeça o passo no meu passar.
E Deus à espera... 
É a passadeira do meu passar.

CROSSWALK
I stopped the car, the crosswalk is there for me to stop.
Especially when it's a frail old man crossing.
His legs tremble, in an attempt to accelerate the tiny steps.
And I even doubt he'll make it to the other side,
to any street, to anywhere.
He's short of time in a world made to circulate.
And he shakes his body, trying to wave at me,
to thank me for the patience of my waiting.
And it's getting late, and I'm really going to have to speed up on this trip,
towards a twilight future,
that crosses the road of a god who waits without horning at me,
because my life is the crosswalk of my crossing.

And I'm getting late in my crossing,
my legs trembling as I cross,
my steps stumbling as I cross.
And God just waiting for me,
because it's the crosswalk of my crossing.

Passadeira

Although quite simple to record, it took me a few weeks to write down a text and sing it over this beautiful guitar piece from Neno J. I used the original title as an inspiration for the text.

Circle of Circles 

Planets move in the dome of stars in surprising ways.
Sometimes forward, sometimes backward  in the celestial orb.

Since perfect circles are the only way of gods,
Ptolemy used circles within circles 
to explain those planetary retrogressions.
That was such a powerful idea 
that Fourier would later use.
Indeed, any periodic smooth motion
can be described by a large enough set of epicycles.

And yet, it all became history, 
thanks to Copernic, Kepler and Newton.
The epicycles were cast out from heaven
by the Occam's razor curse.
And I'm trying to learn the sobering lesson:
Everything gets simpler 
when we don't place ourselves in the center.

Your perfect circles, woman, are the chosen shape of gods.
But will the Fast Fourier Transform ever explain your beauty?

I watch you move in this world of scars in surprising ways.
But what is forward and what is backward in this oblivious maze?

Circle Of Circles JFC (Over Neno J. Guitar Piece)

What could Stephen be thinking while being stoned to death? Here goes one possible answer...

Lapidado pelos céticos, não sei explicar minha fé,
porque a fé, meus caros senhores, só Deus sabe o que ela é.
Só sei que sinto esta força que me devora as entranhas,
e me faz clamar ao povo, lutar por coisas tão estranhas
como a verdade, a justiça, um mundo sem crueldade,
sem miséria, sem cobiça, sem ruína e sem idade.
Estive em visões nesse mundo. Eu sei. Eu sei que é verdade,
e o meu grito moribundo é o grito da saudade,
lapidada pelos céticos.

O Martírio de Estevão

The North Sea was the stage for many violent battles, with lots of human losses. What would an orphan think, standing on the cliffs?

Written in French, of course. No other language offers six different meanings to the sound of "on sent la mer d'ici", all of them relevant to the situation.


** MER DU NORD **

Je suis venu de loin pour écouter le vent.
Penché sur les falaises, d'ici je me comprends.
D'ici je me comprends.
Ma mère m'a dit qu'il fallait pas venir,
qu'il vaut mieux oublier.
Ça sert à quoi de vouloir rebatir 
les ombres du passé?
Ma mère a tort. Ma mère a tort. 
Il me fallait venir.
Ici je me comprends. Je sens mon corps frémir.
De ces falaises
on voit la Mer du Nord.
Et je viens aujourdhui
pour contempler les vagues qui déferlent au vent
sous les nuages gris.
La Mer du Nord
La Mer du Nord
On sent la mer d'ici,
les cuirassés qui brulent encore,
coulés au fond des nuits,
les bombardiers touchés par les chasseurs
et piégés dans l'oubli.
La mer des morts.
La mer des morts.
Mon père était parmis
les mariniers partis au nom des forts 
et jamais revenus.
Je suis venu pour boire cet océan
et m'enivrer de lui.

Ma mère m'a dit qu'il fallait pas venir,
qu'il fallait pas venir.
Ma mère a tort. Ma mère a tort.
Ils sont tous bien ici.
La mer des morts.
La mer des morts.
Mon père était parmis
les mariniers partis au nom des forts 
et jamais revenus.
Je suis venu pour boire cet océan
et m'enivrer de lui,
m'enivrer de lui...

Mer Du Nord (based on CreaFlow Warm North Wind)

I like to create miniatures, very short songs that convey an idea, and are done.

** Happy Birthday! **

This is the day we celebrate
the very special date
you came into this world.
Therefore I came. Surprise, surprise!
You were born at sunrise,
so here's the Sun for you! (A truly green gift!)
Her face turned red, then it turned white.
Although my gift was true,
and so right,
it came out of the blue.
She told me: From you, I confess,
I expected nothing less
than gold, incense an myrrh.

Happy Birthday!

** TÉNÉRÉ **

Il a suffi d'un idiot alcoolisé 
pour renverser le miracle millénaire
de l'arbre du Ténéré.
Répère troublant et isolé,
sous le soleil qui brule la terre,
les dromadaires, rongés de sable,
l'avaient toujours respecté.
Les Touaregs, qui comprenaient sa solitude,
priaient pour lui sans le toucher.

Le jour viendra où tous les arbres
n'auront plus rien pour assembler,
car le carbone dans les calcaires
se trouvera emprisonné.
Et le désert envahira les continents,
et j'imagine la solitude du dernier arbre
branches étendues inutilement
au vent qui esquinte le miracle
d'encore trouver un survivant.

All it took was one drunken idiot
to throw down the millennial miracle
of the Ténéré tree.
A disturbing and isolated landmark,
under the sun that burns the earth,
the camels, eaten away by sand,
had always respected it.
The Tuaregs, who understood its solitude,
prayed for it without touching it.

The day will come when all the trees
will have nothing left to put together,
because the carbon in limestone
will end up imprisoned.
And the desert will invade the continents,
and I imagine the solitude of the last tree
branches extended hopelessly
to the wind that destroys the miracle
of still finding a survivor.

Ténéré (Based on Gérald Olivieri's Le Palais)

** APOPTOSIS **

When my hands were growing in my mother's womb
my fingers were tied together 
by some living tissue.
Then came apoptosis and they were set free.
Now I can use those fingers to play piano keys,
and feel the joys of music.
It's a lucky thing that all my cells are mortal,
so that my human shape could be 
exquisitely carved.
I know this fragile shape is bound to die, 
but that's the price of being.

Apoptosis

** QUEDA LIVRE **
Se existe um céu maravilha, eu vou lá chegar primeiro.
Quando abri uma escotilha e saltei do bombardeiro,
já tinha as costas a arder.
As cinzas do pára-quedas de nada me irão valer.
Recordo imagens de infância, relembro a vida fugaz,
a guerra, a intolerância, a frágil busca de paz.
Revejo na meninice o amor que eu queria oferecer,
tanta coisa que eu não disse, tanta coisa por fazer.
E vou buscando o sentido da criança ao militar,
de vencedor a vencido na obrigação de matar.
E enquanto bebo este vento, enquanto aguardo o bater,
domina-me um pensamento:
Vou finalmente entender...
Vou finalmente entender...

** FREE FALL **
If there is a wonderful heaven, I will get there first.
When I opened a hatch and jumped out of the bomber,
my back was already burning.
The ashes from the parachute will be of no use to me.
I remember childhood images, I remember the fleeting life,
the war, the intolerance, the fragile search for peace.
I see in my childhood the love I wanted to offer,
so much I didn't say, so much I couldn't do.
And I seek the meaning of the child becoming soldier,
from winner to loser in the obligation to kill.
And while I drink this wind, while I wait to hit the ground,
one thought dominates me:
I will finally understand...
I will finally understand...

Queda Livre

It's quite mysterious why some things seem obvious to our understanding. I guess that worms and insects may have a totally different perception of what is obvious. And, as we learn to see, the set of what seems obvious to our minds may also evolve. And we may even be obviously wrong...

== LEARNING TO SEE ==

No, light does not lie.
Light is truth, by definition,
and photons never lie.
But lone photons say nothing at all.
When Hubble tapped the dark sky
it sensed photons one by one,
slowly generating the image
of a deep field immensity.
And some saw galaxies there,
because they had learned to see.
They saw galaxies in all those bright dots on that dark photograph.
That was obvious to them, yet not for me.
And I trust them. 
What else can I do?
I know how often I'm blind to what I'm looking at.

Right now,
I look at you in this quiet evening, 
wondering how much we learned to see.
Is it obvious to you how much I love you?
Is it obvious to you?

Learning To See (based on Anastasiya Ihnatovich piano piece)

The Endless Curse

We all die young cause the shells are coming to find us.
We're taken down as we cross the minefields of loathing.
The duty calls with a mandate to kill our siblings.

So we lock our hearts, demonizing each other's breathing.
And hatred grows as the carnage covers our feelings.
And, as we fall, there's a sound of demons laughing.

We kill the young and the old, the women and children,
as if they were a disease and guns were the healing.
As they shed tears, there's a sound of demons cheering.

This endless curse is a throne of iron and bleeding.
As we crave to rule in the dark with scepters of misery,
we shall be gone, we shall face the furnace greeting.

The Endless Curse

Live at Seixal Concert Hall, 2014
Pedro Castro, guitar and lead vocal
Carlos Antunes, drums
Miguel Amado, bass
José Castro, keyboard and back vocals (I added one back vocal for this track)

Nascido na montanha, nunca viu a cidade.
Ele já tem tudo o que o dinheiro não compra
e cada dia traz-lhe a liberdade.
E os dias passam devagar, como se chegassem de longe.

Guardador de rebanhos, comida para a cidade.
Nunca chegou até à quarta classe.
Mas o que importa é chegar à verdade,
porque a verdade, em verdade, chega devagar,
como se chegasse de longe.

Nascido na montanha, nunca viu a cidade.
Condenado a ser feliz na miséria,
para não ficar a dever nada à sociedade,
ao cidadão no coração da cidade,
onde o amor entra devagar,
como se chegasse de longe.

Born on the mountain, he never saw the city.
He already has everything that money can't buy
and each day brings him freedom.
And the days pass slowly, as if they arrived from afar.

Keeper of livestock, food for the city.
He never reached fourth grade.
But what matters is getting to the truth,
because the truth, in truth, comes slowly,
as if arriving from afar.

Born on the mountain, he never saw the city.
Condemned to be happy in misery,
so as not to owe anything to society,
to the citizen in the heart of the city,
where love enters slowly,
as if arriving from afar.

Nascido Na Montanha (Live)

Dedicated to the genius of Henri Poincaré and Évariste Galois. And also to the many more that feel totally lost in maths.

Ô mathématiques sévères,
où j'ésperais trouver la paix,
loin des passions et des misères...
Logiquement, je me trompais.

Ô mathématiques sévères,
qui accablent mon coeur divisé!
Je multiplie en vain les prières,
sans rien soustraire ou ajouter...

Dans un ruban de Moebius
c'est la même face des deux cotés.
Et, en furetant un peu plus,
on trouve même un Poincaré.

J'apprends la joie et la misère
d'un infini de nullités.
Je ne sais plus ce que j'intègre,
à la dérive pour dériver.

Et je me perds dans les fonctions
sur des espaces insensés,
qui tuent, à coups d'abstraction,
tous mes efforts pour raisonner.

Peut-être tout ce qui éxiste
est juste une probabilité.
Dans l'Univers combinatoire
je suis une possibilité.

Ô mathématiques sévères
ou j'éspérais trouver les lois
placées à l'aube des mystères
par le décret du Roi des Rois.

Dans le vertige des données,
je viens ici crouler par terre,
comptant les morts et les blessés,
les sanglants chiffres de la guerre.

Je sens la plume de Galois
écorchant les feuilles de papier
pour démontrer encore une fois
le desespoir des condamnés.

Ô mathématiques sévères,
où j'ésperais trouver la paix,
loin des passions et des misères...
Logiquement, je me trompais.

0==============0

O severe mathematics,
where I hoped to find peace,
far from passions and miseries...
Logically, I was wrong.

O severe mathematics,
which overwhelm my divided heart!
I multiply my prayers in vain,
without subtracting or adding anything...

In a Moebius strip
it's the same side on both sides.
And, looking around a little more,
we even find a Poincaré. (i.e. a square point)

I learn the joy and misery
of an infinity of nullities.
I no longer know what I am integrating,
drifting in derivation.

And I get lost in the functions
on insane spaces
that kill, with strikes of abstraction,
all my efforts to reason.

Maybe everything that exists
is just a probability.
In the combinatorial Universe
I'm just a possibility.

O severe mathematics
where I hoped to find the laws
placed at the dawn of mysteries
by the decree of the King of Kings.

In the dizziness of data,
I come here to collapse on the ground,
counting the dead and wounded,
the bloody numbers of the war.

I feel the pen of Galois
peeling the sheets of paper
to demonstrate once again
the despair of the condemned.

O severe mathematics,
where I hoped to find peace,
far from passions and miseries...
Logically, I was wrong.

Ô Mathématiques Sévères! (based on L'Envol from Gérald Olivieri)

EXPULSA AS TREVAS

Expulsa as trevas que há no coração!
Trevas assassinas.
Trevas de um ladrão.
Não deixes que essas trevas
guiem tua mão.
Segue a luz que há no coração!
Luz que é firmamento,
luz que é vida, luz que é vento,
luz que é Sol que me ilumina o entendimento.
Segue a luz que há no coração...

Luz e trevas lutam pela minha mão.
Foi-me dado escolher minha terra, meu povo.
E eu em cada escolha, cada decisão,
vou morrendo um pouco,
ou nascendo de novo.

Expulsa as trevas que há no coração!

Expulsa as Trevas

Christmas: A birthday celebration where we tend to forget whose birthday it is.

Não há lugar, não há qualquer estalagem.
Já não há espaço no coração.
Não há milhões que prestem homenagem.
Não há louvores da multidão.
Dá-me tua luz, oh vem guiar os passos meus.
Dá-me tua luz, filho de Deus.
Como os pastores que os anjos convidaram
Deus dá convites a todos nós.
Abençoados os que não esperaram
e atenderam à Sua voz.
Dá-me tua luz, oh vem guiar os passos meus.
Dá-me tua luz, filho de Deus.

Natal 2023

Talking of Christmas, here is something I made a long time ago.

** O Regresso do Rei **

Vem meu amor, vem ver maravilhas no céu.
No mundo há dor, mas estamos mais perto do véu.
Espalha-se a guerra, encontramos paz em Sião.
Agita-se a Terra, entornam-se estrelas no chão.
Dá-me a tua mão enquanto mundo cai.
Não tenhas medo.
São as promessas do Pai a descer.
Mil anos de luz.

O Regresso do Rei

** Discussing the Menu ** 

Discussing the menu will never nourish our bodies. 
Shall we stop talking for a while?
Just point your finger to show me where the meal is,
and I'll go and feed myself. 

Yes, I know...
Pointing fingers can be rude.
But that's collateral damage of a basic cognitive activity.
For many words we use, pointing precedes meaning. 
We can point at the sea and say: "Look! The sea!" 
And thus we can assign names to the beasts, the trees and the stars. 
That's the miracle of pointing. 
Somehow we understand that we are naming a thousand  things, 
not giving a thousand names to the stupid pointing finger.

And thus, as we understand each other, 
we are both edified while rejoicing together.
Joy is the secret prize of sharing,
a prize beyond words or the ringing sound of bells.
A wordless no bell prize.   

And there's so much more to understand
than the things we can perceive 
with our feeble ears and naked eyes...
Did you know?
Gobi camels shed tears
when they are sung 
ancient Mongolian lullabies.

Discussing The Menu (Based on Yann Kifer's Bella track)

As we enter 2024, a reminder that there is no fate. We make our path as we walk. And, if we are willing to give more than what we are required to give, we are actually in command.

*** Não Há Destino ***
Quiseste um passo, andei a milha
só para mostrar quem manda.
Quiseste o manto, dei-te a camisa,
só para mostrar quem manda.
Minha alma é livre, ninguém me obriga.
Ninguém nos leva a esperança.
Não há destino. Ao caminhar traço o meu caminho.
Quiseste a bolsa, eu dei-te a vida,
só para mostrar quem manda.
Pediste um esforço, dobrei a esquina,
só para mostrar quem manda.
Meu credo é simples: Amor é vida.
Ninguém nos leva a esperança.
Não há destino.
Ao caminhar traço o meu caminho.

*** There Is No Fate ***

You wanted a step, I walked a mile
just to show who's in command.
You wanted the cloak, I gave you the shirt,
just to show who's in command.
My soul is free, no one forces me.
No one takes away our hope.
There is no fate. As I walk, I make my path.
You wanted the purse, I gave you my life,
just to show who's in command.
You asked for an effort, I turned the corner,
just to show who's in command.
My creed is simple: Love is life.
No one takes away our hope.
There is no fate.
As I walk, I make my path.

Não Há Destino

Well, I'm a grandpa now, so I recorded this to celebrate my new status.

DANIEL

Daniel came into this world and made my day.
Snow was falling in Utah so far away.
Hope you'll find there lots of love, and, if you cry,
your dad will sing you lullabies.

Soon you will become a man, and I'll be gone.
I hope you'll find then what it means to have a son.
Will you hold him in your arms, and, if he cries,
will you sing him lullabies?

Someday we may just be names once carved in stone,
and the memories of our birth will all be gone.
Others will comfort their children as they cry.
But will they sing them lullabies?

Daniel

COMPLICADAMENTE

Maria, para quê fazer simples,
se o posso fazer complicadamente?
Tu já me conheces, tu sabes o quanto eu aprecio
nunca seres simplesmente.

Tudo o que faço e digo, o faço e digo complicadamente.
Sou inimigo, sempre fui inimigo do simplesmente.
Que o simplesmente complica-me com os nervos,
baralha-me as ideias.
Sabe-me ao primarismo desses servos
que broncamente arrastam as cadeias.
São estas as principais razões porque ajo e penso complicadamente,
e que, por paradoxo, são a chave
de um outro e bem mais simples simplesmente:
Maria. Simplesmente Maria...

Not easy to capture the ambiguities of the portuguese lyrics, but here goes a try:
COMPLICATED WAY
Mary, why should I do things in a simple way, if I can do them in a complicated way?
You know me, you know how much I appreciate that you don't simply exist.

Everything I do and say, I do and say it in a complicated manner.
I'm wary, I've always been wary of the "simply",
because the "simply" gets on my nerves, confuses my ideas.
It tastes to me like the rudimentary nature of those servants that drag their chains in a clumsy way.
These are the main reasons I think and act in a complicated manner.
And this, paradoxically, is the key for another and much simpler "simply":
Mary. Simply Mary.

Complicadamente

Soldiers of fortune, with a patriotic sense of debt,
take your credit cards and follow me.
Let us buy what we don't need with the money we don't have.
Let us eat and drink and laugh and be merry.
Alarm bells are ringing.
Don't worry, be happy.
Just keep singing in the drain.

Singing In The Drain (feat. Debra Buesking Piano)

The man in the center of the photograph is the grandfather of my father's mother. Celebrating  some milestone of his military career in the Austro-Hungarian army.

Desde quando é que os homens não choram?
Desde quando é que o sonhos não matam de amor?
Desde sempre que os dias namoram
as ruas do inferno calcadas de dor.
É difícil falar do que sinto.
Nunca fui mui bonito, nunca fui muito esperto.
Eu preciso de fé para saber,
e de ainda mais fé para escolher o que é certo.
Perguntem a Pôncio Pilatos
de que serve encontrar a verdade infinita,
se a própria verdade de cala
e nos deixa perdidos nos escolhos da vida,
com silêncios pesados na sala,
com remorsos silentes de lutas perdidas,
com ciúmes das horas felizes
que nos abandonaram no palco dos dias.
Não me digam que os homens não choram,
não me digam que os homens não quebram de dor.
Perguntem a César caído.
Perguntem a Brutus se é bom ser traidor.
Preciso entender o que sinto.
Nunca fui mui bonito, nunca fui muito esperto,
mas preciso fazer o que é certo.
Quanto ao resto, não sei.
Só sei mesmo que dói.

Os Homens Nao Choram

I created this song a long time ago. My son Filipe made a mix that was placed in Spotify. Here goes my mix.

Já não há mais caravelas,
porque os heróis do passado
voltaram do fim do mundo,
enterraram o horizonte.
Já não há mais caravelas,
mas o sonho é que não para.
Vai vencendo as tempestades
na distância imaginária.
Sentados à secretária
para aqui vamos navegando,
cá nos vamos afogando,
mas a sede não nos larga.

Será que ainda há fim do mundo?
Será que ainda há horizonte?
Já não há mais caravelas,
mas a vida é que não para.
Vai vencendo as tempestades
da espiral inflacionária.
Nesta confusão diária
para aqui vamos navegando,
cá nos vamos afogando,
mas a sede não nos larga.

Nossos pais naufragaram
para verem o mundo até à última gota de mar.
E eu também quero ir...

Google translate gets a little lost, so here it goes:

There are no more caravels,
because the heroes of the past
returned from the end of the world,
buried the horizon.
There are no more caravels,
but our dreaming never stops.
It overcomes the storms
in the imaginary distance.
Sitting at the desk
here we keep sailing,
here we keep drowning,
but the thirst won't leave us.

Is there still an end to the known world?
Is there still an horizon?
There are no more caravels,
but life keeps going on.
It  keeps overcoming the storms
of the inflationary spiral.
In this daily mess
here we keep sailing,
here we keep drowning,
but this thirst won't leave us.

Our fathers shipwrecked
to see the world down to the last drop of sea.
And I also want to go...

Ja Nao Há  Mais Caravelas (Mix JFC)

** A QUESTÃO DO FUTURO **

Por muito negro que seja o livro do passado,
o futuro é sempre uma página em branco...

Se queres saber o que é o futuro,
dou-te uma resposta inocente:
É como um filho prematuro
da gravidez que é o presente.

Porque o presente sempre está
com a barriga dilatada,
sempre a parir um venho já,
um porvir que ainda agora é nada.

Convém agora meditar:
Esse porvir, esse talvez,
é tempo para nos libertar
da nossa humana insensatez.

Dá-me tua mão. Vamos dançar,
que esse porvir, esse talvez,
talvez nos traga um madrugar
que leve as dores da gravidez.

Penso que o mais que podemos
fazer nesta curta vida
é tocar com a mão que temos
outra que esteja estendida.

E, desse contacto breve,
tentar extrair a verdade,
um feixe de luz que leve
ao fundo da eternidade.

Here is an English translation:

** The Question of the Future **

No matter how dark the book of the past is,
the future is always a blank page...

If you want to know what the future is,
I'll give you an innocent answer:
It's like a premature baby
of the pregnancy that is the present.

Because the present is always
with a dilated belly,
always giving birth to an I'm coming,
an upcoming that is yet still nothing.

It is now worth meditating:
This future, this perhaps,
is a given time so we can get free
of our human foolishness.

Give me your hand. Let's Dance,
because this future, this maybe,
may perhaps bring us a dawn
that will take away the pains of pregnancy.

I think the most we can
do in this short life
is to touch with our hand
another that is begging.

And, from that brief contact,
try to extract the truth,
a beam of light that will takes us
to the end of eternity.

A Questão Do Futuro

Violin played by Steven Lehnhof.

PARAÍSO PERDIDO
Não me vai servir de muito ter nascido em Portugal:
somos todos as cobaias de uma experiência global.
Louvamos o crescimento, as empresas de sucesso,
os triunfos do momento a que chamamos progresso.
Transparece nessas histórias o optimismo dos catraios,
o canto de aves simplórias poisadas nos pára-raios.
Quando batermos no muro, iremos ver com horror
que buscámos o futuro num espelho retrovisor.
E, no dia do desaire, o optimista ainda dirá:
"Não se assustem, que esta noite decerto o Sol brilhará!"
Não me vai servir de muito haver camas no hospital:
Somos todos as cobaias de uma experiência mortal.
Exaustos, no movimento a que chamamos progresso,
sentimos no desalento a saudade de um regresso.
Mas não há nada no regresso.
Não há nada nesse tempo sem angústia ou sofrimento,
na monótona existência sem fracasso e sem sucesso
duma estéril inocência.

PARADISE LOST
It won't help me much to be born in Portugal: We are all guinea pigs in a global experiment. 
We praise economic growth and successful business, the triumphs of the moment that we call progress. 
The optimism of little children transpires in all these praises, like the singing of naive birds perched on lightning rods. 
The day we shall hit the wall, we will discover with horror that we have driven towards the future while looking at a rear view mirror. 
Still, in the middle of disaster, the optimist will keep saying: Don't be scared, tonight the sun will surely shine. 
It won't help me much to have beds available in the hospitals: We are all guinea pigs in a deadly experiment.
Lost in this frenziness we call progress, we feel in our dismay the longing for a return.
But there's nothing in that return. 
There is nothing in that time without anguish or suffering, 
in that monotonous existence, with no failure or success, 
of a sterile innocence.

Paraíso Perdido

L'ami c'est l'étendart des temps qu'on se souvient.
C'est pas comme  la passion. On ne pleure pas quand il part. On rit quand il revient.
Comme un coup de tonerre venu d'un ciel sérein, il vient pour boire un verre,
pour reveiller nos rêves et les vieilles chansons
de nos jours qui s'achèvent sur la grande question:
Elle est partie où 
la folie d'antan,
quand on cassait les rames sur le lac Léman?

Les Amis

I've been making music with Pedro Castro since 1972. At the time, we created the alternative rock band Petrus Castrus. The music I'm placing here are just the home recordings of ongoing projects and ideas. I created a few playlists (Inéditos) according to language (PO - Portuguese; EN - English; SP - Spanish; FR - French; IT - Italian), and also for concept albums (Três Jardins). There are two long tracks (Mediterrâneo and Isaías) for full concept albums. A playlist called Synergies gathers the collaboration projects with other musicians in the fantastic SoundCloud community.

Petrus Castrus edited records can be found on Spotify and Soundcloud. See the Facebook Petrus Castrus page for more details, including comments about the recordings uploaded here. 

We are both amateur musicians, i.e. music lovers. As for me, I'm just an electrical engineer with a master in AI that really loves creating music and use it to share ideas. That is why all tracks include lyrics or texts.

Enjoy!

Popular tracks by José F Castro - JFC (Petrus Castrus)