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The Sun Jumped Up


Versión de Tim O'Brien
The sun jumped up in the middle of the east at five fifteen this morning
The wife jumped up to feed the kid at five fifteen this morning
The sun jumped up in the middle of the east

And the wife jumped up in the middle of the bed
And I jumped up in the middle of a dream at five fifteen this morning

The woman got the kid all fed by six fifteen this morning
And I had done made up our bed at six fifteen this morning
The baby played on dancing feet and the woman stirred up a bite to eat
But that dream still pounded in my head at six fifteen this morning

I walked to work and the sun got warm at seven fifteen this morning
I held my lunch pail under my arm at seven fifteen this morning
That dream kept ringing in my ear and getting plainer and coming clearer
Getting bigger and drawing near at seven fifteen this morning

I guess you know how some dreams are at eight fifteen this morning
You can't remember what they are at eight fifteen this morning
I scratched my head at the factory gate and I run to keep from being late
And the clock said fifteen after eight at eight fifteen this morning

I waved to the boss and I talked to my friends at nine fifteen this morning
I was fishing around inside my brain at nine fifteen this morning
I seen my dream like a haze or a snatch or a blaze from some old fiery match
But the rest of my dream I could not catch at nine fifteen this morning

So at fifteen minutes after ten or ten fifteen this morning
I told my trouble to all my friends at ten fifteen this morning
I told them my dream was as plain as day and how it run like a rabbit away
They said, "Keep trying if it takes all day!" at ten fifteen this morning






 
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HOY DESTACAMOS
Óbito

el 22/11/2022

Pablo Milanés, uno de los más importantes trovadores de los últimos años, ha fallecido esta noche a los 79 años, tras permanecer ingresado en Madrid durante más de una semana, informaron medios oficiales.

HOY EN PORTADA
Óbito

por Frank Carlos Nájera el 22/11/2022

En las noches tristes, escribo. Dormir no apetece ni apremia. La tristeza se canaliza y empieza a formar palabras, y las palabras se me venden como necesarias, y yo las compro y las consumo creyendo que las voy creando. Nunca he sido fumador. Fumo palabras y entre el humo de las noticias voy rodeando la imagen de un rostro muy familiar.

 



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