May 6 2022. João Seixas passed away. We played together in the first half of the seventies. He was the drummer in Petrus Castrus' first recordings. Those were the happy days of vinyl. This one is for you, old friend.

Eu já não espero ser rei de novo
no reino tão breve onde os sonhos se cruzam,
reais uma vez no tempo, num só lugar.
Crepúsculo cruzado de sonhos,
janela entre o berço e a mortalha.
Velas brancas na praia ainda vão ao mar,
pelo mar fora voam, asas brancas a subir,
a fé intacta sobre a glória de hora antiga.
Os velhos até se lembram do cheiro do mar perdido,
a nave invicta.
Onde é que dorme o grito dos que nunca mais voltaram?
O grito onde os sonhos ficaram,
reais uma vez no tempo, num só lugar.
Crepúsculo cruzado de sonhos,
janela entre o berço e a mortalha.
Velas brancas na praia ainda vão ao mar,
pelo mar fora voam, asas brancas a subir,
asas brancas a subir...

Eu Já Não Espero

Fourth track of the Degraus da Forca playlist. Interludes between the tracks are on the making. To listen to the sequence, check the playlist.

ANTROPOFAGIA

No civilizado nosso dia a dia
há formas subtis de antropofagia:
Homens que devoram o seu semelhante
exibindo um largo sorriso confiante,
e homens que cozem a alheia ilusão
no caldeirão negro da sua ambição.
Civilização, quem te pensaria
seres forma subtil de antropofagia?

Degraus da Forca

Antropofagia

This is another track from The Gallows Steps sequence. Waiting for the execution of the death sentence, the prisonner tries to get some help from the dark side. 

PACTO COM O DEMÓNIO

Tentei, em cozedura de zinco e antimónio,
a secreta mistura do pacto com o Demónio.
Cozi-os murmurando as palavras secretas
achadas num nefando livro de folhas pretas.
Aguardei longas horas, olhando o fumo feio.
Aguardei longas horas. O Demónio não veio.
Pergunto-me em que errei, se foi nas proporções
dos metais que juntei, ou nas incantações.
Mas um facto persiste: O Demónio invocado
- e será que ele existe? - não surgiu a meu lado.
É bizarro o destino, estranho que o seu poder
salve do desatino o que se quer perder.
Por razões de cordura, que não vou aprofundar,
não voltei a tentar a infernal mistura.

JFC Volume 1

Pacto Com o Demónio

Eleventh track of the Degraus da Forca project. I will make a few more public as time goes by. Here, the condemned prisonner struggles with the will to pray.

Deste ponto perdido
num espaço imensidão
a um deus desconhecido
eu ergo uma oração.
Sei que estou repetindo
um milenário rito
lançando ao mundo infindo
o meu interno grito.
Mas sabê-lo confirma
que essa dor que me invade
a alma, e a infirma,
não tem tempo ou idade.
Sempre, alguns angustiados
tiveram e terão
de erguer aos céus alheados
uma íntima oração.
Que este nunca infirmado
ato, que a dor engana,
é um básico dado
da condição humana.

Interno Grito

Last track of the Degraus da Forca project. To hear the sequence, check the playlist.

Abro a janela para a noite abençoada,
que apaga em silêncio a fornalha do dia.
E as luzes distantes, que cintilam na outra margem,
entornam sobre o porto uma saudade de partir.
O capitão do meu espírito ausentou-se às escondidas.
Os que ressonam na casa não suspeitam que ele partiu,
com o cheiro da ferrugem e do fuel queimado,
a deslizar no espelho negro da noite tão calma.
Tão calma que dói...

Abro a Janela

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 wrote some lyrics for the beautiful "A Winter's Tale" instrumental made by Time 2 Relax (https://soundcloud.com/time-2-relax). The main vocal was nicely performed by Daniel Armada. 

A Winter's Tale

Once there was a hot Summer
with endless choices.
Now it's just a Winter's tale
where snow dampens our voices.

As we synchronize
the silence of our footsteps,
walking together in loneliness,
now tears are freezing on your face, 
and now tears are freezing on my face.
For now you understand
that our love is chemistry
slowing down
to some damned function of Kelvin.

A Winter's Tale (based on Time 2 Relax instrumental)

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)

Dedicated to all those that sometime in their lives felt unrequieted love.

AUSÊNCIA

Má sorte,
casualidade, um puro acaso. Eu nunca quis apaixonar-me.
Foi descabido, decerto errado. Possivelmente até pecado.
E eu não quis ser assim. 
Não quis ser um fardo, não te anunciei o fogo em mim.
E tu seguiste o teu caminho, sem suspeitar o que eu senti por ti.

Dói-me a tua ausência, sinto-a cruelmente,
mas só porque em mim ainda (tu sempre) estás presente.
Sinto-te na brisa e na tempestade,
nesta noite imensa de espaço e saudade.
E vejo-te em Vénus, e vejo-te em Marte,
e vejo-te na Lua, e vejo-te em toda a parte,
em Plutão lá longe, nas ruas desertas,
no passar de sombras de origens incertas.

Ausência

Suivant l'idée du titre original de Frank Dana, j'ai écrit et chanté un texte au sujet des boulevards.

Les boulevards, à l'origine,
c'était tout juste des remparts
qui protegeaient le coeur des villes.

Mais quand ils ont rasé les murs
qui entouraient l'ancien Paris
ils ont creé des avenues,
les boulevards qu'on voit d'ici
tous pleins de fleurs, de bienvenues
pour les amants, les enemis,
et même les envahisseurs.

Après la peur et les soucis,
tous mes remparts ont dépéri.
Tu peux venir briser mon coeur,
brulêr mon sang. Je t'aime à vie.

Driving the Blvd (Based on Frank Dana instrumental)

LE RISQUE
 
Mes chères mademoiselles, ecoutez, écoutez...
C'est un peu recherché, mais il faut distinguer risque et incertitude.
On prend des risques quand on connait déjà quelles sont les probabilités de se faire gifler.
On parle d'incertitude quand on ne connait même pas les chances de succès.
Mes chères damoiselles, je voudrais vous souffler bien des choses à l'oreille.
Mais je ne suis même pas pas sûr si c'est risqué.

Ma chère madame, écoutez, écoutez...
Il me faudra décider sous risque ou incertitude.
Je prendrais un risque si je savais évaluer les chances de me faire tuer.
Mais, dans l'incertitude, je ne sais même pas quelles sont mes probabilités de décès.
Et pourtant, madame, je viendrai vous souffler bien des choses à l'oreille,
car je suis tout à fait sûr que vous le désirez.

Le Risque (Based on Gérald Olivieri Soundtrack)

OMNIVORE

The hills are alive with the sound of music,
but not for long.

Heed to mee, insects of the Spring
birds on the trees,
worms of the earth,
reptiles and mammals:

Don't be deceived
by the sound of music.
Where do you think she'll find
the calories required to perform that singing?

Watch out!
Besides her tongue and the vocal cords,
she's got incisors, she's got canines,
premolars and molars.
Watch out!
She's an omnivore!
Watch out!
Whatever your species, whatever your kingdom,
beware!
Fried chickens, stewed pigs, roasted cows,
you're just a few of her favourite things.
Even scales:
"Do - a dear, a female dear..."
I told you: She's obsessed with meat.
I rest my case.
The hills were alive with the sound of music...

Omnivore

Adios. Au revoir.
En fermant les yeux, ce sera la lumière,
ou peut-être le noir.
C'était pas de ma faute que je fuisse né.
Mon temps terminé,
j'embrasse aujourdhui une certaine angoisse,
mais aussi - et sutout - la curiosité.

Adios JFC(Based on Gerald Olivieri Instrumental)

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)

FLAT MOON SOCIETY

"We man the guns against oppression of thought
and the Globularist lies of a new age.
Standing with reason,
we offer a home to those wayward thinkers
that march bravely on
with REASON and TRUTH
in recognizing the TRUE shape of the Earth:
FLAT."

Did you just laugh at this solemn declaration of Flat Earth Society?
You shouldn't...
Flat Earth believers are not that different from you and I.
As human beings, false beliefs are our birthright,
since no man knows enough to justify all his convictions.
We were not born to know on our own.
Rather, we must join billions of small expertises
to send astronauts to the surface of the Moon.
Only from there can they really see
that the Earth is a blue sphere, lone and beautiful.
There they can jump bravely on Selene's countenance,
leaving their footprints in the alien dust,
while joyfully recognizing the TRUE shape of the Moon:
FLAT.

Flat Moon Society

Christopher Columbus first came to Portugal to ask for some ships for his idea of reaching India sailing west. But the estimate he presented to the Portuguese court of the distances to reach Cipango and China were clearly wrong, and the request was refused. It was suicide. As he stumbled upon the Antilles, Columbus found his salvation and glory. But he never acknowledged that he was wrong, and that's why the new continent was not called Colombia. Amerigo Vesppucci wrote a popular book about the new territory, which was eventually named after him. 

PARTIR

Pour arriver, il faut partir.
I faut revêr d'une quelque part,
parfois envers et contre tous,
tout enivré de faux espoirs.

Il y a d'étonnantes découvertes 
qui nous attendent à l'horizon
sur les chemins pris par des fous
les Christophes Colombs qui risquent tout
cherchant la gloire d'inouis voyages
et les richesses, et les mirages
pour étancher leur soif de faire
pour s'affranchir d'être néant.

Mais je ne parts pas, moi.
Je ne suis pas fou...
Je fais partie des sots bien sages
qui restent au port bien prudemment
pour éviter tous les naufrages,
pour échaper aux coups de vent.

Je peux vous dire, prenant de l'âge,
que j'ai vécu sans rien trouver,
que j'ai vieilli pour rien du tout.
Tout, sauf l'ennui et le regret
d'avoir raté la nef des fous.

LEAVING

To get somewhere, we need to leave.
We have to dream about some place,
sometimes against all odds,
inebriated with false hopes.

There are amazing discoveries
that await us on the horizon
on the paths taken by madmen
the Christopher Columbus who risks everything
seeking the glory of unheard voyages
and the riches, and the mirages,
to quench their thirst for doing something
to free themselves from being nothing.

But I'm not leaving.
I'm not crazy...
I am one of those wise fools
who very cautiously stay in the harbor
to avoid all shipwrecks,
to keep away from the gusts of wind.

I can tell you, now that I'm old,
that I have lived without a finding,
that I grew old without a purpose.
Nothing, except the boredom and the regret
of having missed the ship of fools.

Partir JFC (Based on Gérald Olivieri Soundtrack)

The title "Ballad for Alma" reminded me of an episode in the Book of Mormon, where the son of a presiding high priest went among the people, telling them to disbelief his father. Here I imagined what could be the father thoughts, with a small meditation on the nature of hope, faith, and charity.

BALLAD FOR ALMA

No one wants to be alone,
either in bliss or sorrow.
Angels above invite.
Demons from hell entice.

In the great fight for the souls
you chose to disbelieve it all,
join the skeptics, praise  the world,
delighted to play with fire.

Still I hope you'll come back home.
Hope is belief and desire.
New hearts are given to some.
Beliefs are our choice alone.

And then there's faith.
Faith is more than wishfull thinking.
Faith is hope with revelation
from the subtle mighty voice
that can burn, but cannot lie.

Thus I trust that voice to warn you.
Then you'll see and then you'll cry.
From the deepness of despair,
in the dire and lonely night,
all will seem beyond repair.
But what I told you will come to mind.
And then you'll remember the name you should call,
and it's going to be allright.

There's no charity in darkness:
It's a feature of the light.
Demons from hell entice,
but love will always invite.

Ballad For Alma JFC (Based on Neno J. guitar 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

PERFECTION

Being born under the moon,
getting lost in a dark room
we can hardly find the door
and if life is full of garbage
we can't see it on the floor,
we can't clean it in the dark.

As we walk towards the light
then our vision becomes clearer.
We see grey, then we see colors,
the dust, the stains, and the horrors.
We find hard to contemplate
even our smallest mistakes.

If we'll bask in perfect light
shall we ever see perfection? 
Shall we ever find delight
smelling heavenly perfumes?

In the sacred holy night
angels praise the Newborn King.
He notices, with perfect hearing,
that  they're singing out of tune.

Perfection

I sang this out of frustration, indulging in imitation and banality. Reposts are a great resource to discover new and interesting creators. But when they outnumber by far the posts of the creators you already follow, they become a problem.

REPOST SONG

It's so easy to repost, much easier than to post.
So I'll repost all your love letters.
My wife will treat me better,
blind enough to enjoy your kind words,
thinking they came from me...
It's only fair that our secret affair will foster harmony.

Repost Song

This is a home recording made on tape in the late eighties with my friend Camané and me in the vocals. "Pode melhorar" (it can get better) sounds just like "pó de melhorar" (improvement powder, a much requested magic stuff). There's a little distortion in the start. Accidents did happen in those primitive recording sessions.

PÓ DE MELHORAR
O céu escureceu, a terra abanou.
Abriu-se uma porta, e ela chegou.
Primeiro fui cavalo, depois promoveu-me a burro.
Primeiro levei um estalo, depois levei um murro.
Mas a nossa paixão não vai acabar, não.
Ela vai tão mal que só pode melhorar.

De um conto de fadas eu trouxe a magia.
Com o jeito das crianças constrói-se a alegria.
Com caixas de pó de perlim-pim-pim,
que agarram nas tristezas e fazem-nas chegar ao fim.
Não é pó de bruxa, nem pode enganar.
É pó de atitude. É pó de melhorar.

Pó De Melhorar

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

Here I wrote and sang a french text addressing the famous John Searle's Chinese Room argument that challenges the strong AI claims based on the functionalist understandig of mental states. The instrumental was sent to me by Gérald Olivieri sometime ago.

La Chambre Chinoise

Je me disais qu'elle était belle,
en m'expliquant son doctorat
sur l'intelligence artificielle.
Et je buvais sa douce voix :

- Figure toi emprisonné
dans une chambre pleine de tiroirs 
marqués de charactères chinois
que nous savons bien distinguer, 
mais sans savoir ce qu'ils veulent dire.

Des prisonniers, oui, mais il y a bien pire.   
Nous agissons sans rien comprendre.
On nous présente des charactères,
et il faut vite trouver 
le tiroir correspondant
que nous ouvrons juste pour voir 
les charactères qu'il y a dedans.
Rapidement on les copie
et on les poste à la sortie.

Tu crois au coeur? Détrompe toi.
C'est pas possible le bonheur
car ça c'est tout ce que nous sommes!

Tout ébloui, je répondis:
- Pour moi, tout ça c'est du chinois! 
Si nous sommes juste des machines 
contraintes à travailler des signes
pourquoi tu viens me dire tout ça?

Elle répondit baissant les yeux:
- Oh! Pour rien... Pour causer, quoi...

Et puis, soudain, j'ai vu un signe: 
Une larme glissant sur son visage.
Et la machine qui est en moi 
voulait la prendre dans mes bras.

La Chambre Chinoise (over G Olivieri instrumental)

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

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

Por vezes a felicidade passa por nós, e a gente nem repara.
Perdemos os dias à procura dos óculos que temos na cara.
Só quando eles caem e se quebram no chão vemos a verdade.
Quando a morte nos cerca e nos turba a visão sentimos saudade.
Agora fecho os olhos à procura do espaço onde só eu me encontro.
Recordo a tua mão, o teu doce abraço no vazio que defronto.
Vejo na claridade o quanto fui louco, e sinto tanta pena.
Exigimos tanto e damos tão pouco quando a alma é pequena.

WHEN THE SOUL IS SMALL
Sometimes happiness passes us by, and we don't even notice.
We lose our days looking for the glasses we have on our face.
Only when they fall and break to the ground do we see the truth.
When death surrounds us and clouds our vision, we feel the longing.
Now I close my eyes looking for the space where I find myself alone.
I remember your hand, your sweet embrace in the emptiness I face.
I see in the light how crazy I was, and I feel so sorry.
We demand so much and give so little when the soul is small.

Quando A Alma É Pequena

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)

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. I created a few playlists according to language (PO - Portuguese, EN - English, SP - Spanish, FR . French), and also for concept albums (Três Jardins). There are two long tracks (Mediterrâneo and Isaías) for full concept albums. A playlist called Synergies gathers collaboration projects.

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. Enjoy! 
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 sharing ideas.

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