Waters of March - Art Garfunkel

A stick, a stone It's the end of the road It's the rest of a stump It's a little alone It's a sliver of glass It is life, it's the sun It is night, it is death It's a trap, it's a gun The oak when it blooms A fox in the brush The knot in the wood The song of a thrush The wood of the wind A cliff, a fall A scratch, a lump It is nothing at all It's the wind blowing free It's the end of the slope It's a beam it's a void It's a hunch, it's a hope And the river bank talks Of the waters of March It's the end of the strain The joy in your heart The foot, the ground The flesh and the bone The beat of the road A slingshot stone A fish, a flash A silvery glow A fight, a bet The range of a bow The bed of the well The end of the line The dismay in the face It's a loss, it's a find A spear, a spike A point, a nail A drip, a drop The end of the tale A truckload of bricks In the soft morning light The shot of a gun In the dead of the night A mile, a must A thrust, a bump It's a girl, it's a rhyme It's a cold, it's the mumps The plan of the house The body in bed And the car that got stuck It's the mud, it's the mud A float, a drift A flight, a wing A hawk, a quail The promise of spring And the river bank talks Of the waters of March It's the promise of life It's the joy in your heart A snake, a stick It is John, it is Joe It's a thorn in your hand And a cut in your toe A point, a grain A bee, a bite A blink, a buzzard, A sudden stroke of night A pass in the mountains A horse and a mule In the distance the shelves Rode three shadows of blue And the river talks Of the waters of March It's the promise of life In your heart, in your heart A stick, a stone The end of the load The rest of a stump A lonesome road A sliver of glass A life, the sun A knight, a death, The end of the run And the river bank talks Of the waters of March It's the end of all strain It's the joy in your heart

A stick, a stone It's the end of the road It's the rest of a stump It's a little alone It's a sliver of glass It is life, it's the sun It is night, it is death It's a trap, it's a gun The oak when it blooms A fox in the brush The knot in the wood The song of a thrush The wood of the wind A cliff, a fall A scratch, a lump It is nothing at all It's the wind blowing free It's the end of the slope It's a beam it's a void It's a hunch, it's a hope And the river bank talks Of the waters of March It's the end of the strain The joy in your heart The foot, the ground The flesh and the bone The beat of the road A slingshot stone A fish, a flash A silvery glow A fight, a bet The range of a bow The bed of the well The end of the line The dismay in the face It's a loss, it's a find A spear, a spike A point, a nail A drip, a drop The end of the tale A truckload of bricks In the soft morning light The shot of a gun In the dead of the night A mile, a must A thrust, a bump It's a girl, it's a rhyme It's a cold, it's the mumps The plan of the house The body in bed And the car that got stuck It's the mud, it's the mud A float, a drift A flight, a wing A hawk, a quail The promise of spring And the river bank talks Of the waters of March It's the promise of life It's the joy in your heart A snake, a stick It is John, it is Joe It's a thorn in your hand And a cut in your toe A point, a grain A bee, a bite A blink, a buzzard, A sudden stroke of night A pass in the mountains A horse and a mule In the distance the shelves Rode three shadows of blue And the river talks Of the waters of March It's the promise of life In your heart, in your heart A stick, a stone The end of the load The rest of a stump A lonesome road A sliver of glass A life, the sun A knight, a death, The end of the run And the river bank talks Of the waters of March It's the end of all strain It's the joy in your heart

É pau, é pedra, é o fim do caminho É um resto de toco, é um pouco sozinho É um caco de vidro, é a vida, é o sol É a noite, é a morte, é o laço, é o anzol É peroba do campo, é o nó da madeira Caingá candeia, é o Matinta Pereira É madeira de vento, tombo da ribanceira É o mistério profundo, é o queira ou não queira É o vento ventando, é o fim da ladeira É a viga, é o vão, festa da cumeeira É a chuva chovendo, é conversa ribeira Das águas de março, é o fim da canseira É o pé, é o chão, é a marcha estradeira Passarinho na mão, pedra de atiradeira É uma ave no céu, ou é uma ave no chão É um regato, é uma fonte, é um pedaço de pão É o fundo do poço, é o fim do caminho No rosto um desgosto, é um pouco sozinho É um estrepe, é um prego, é uma ponta, é um ponto É um pingo pingando, é uma conta, é um conto É um peixe, é um gesto, é uma prata brilhando É a luz da manhã, é o tijolo chegando É a lenha, é o dia, é o fim da picada É a garrafa de cana, o estilhaço na estrada É o projeto da casa, é o corpo na cama É o carro enguiçado, é a lama, é a lama É um resto de mato na luz da manhã São as águas de março fechando o verão E a promessa de vida no teu coração É um resto de mato na luz da manhã São as águas de março fechando o verão E a promessa de vida no teu coração A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road It's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone It's a sliver of glass, it is life, it's the sun It is night, it is death, it's a trap, it's a gun The oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush The knot in the wood, the song of a thrush The will of the wind, a cliff, a fall A scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all It's the wind blowing free, it's the end of the slope It's a beam, it's a void, it's a hunch, it's a hope And the river bank talks of the waters of March It's the end of the strain, it's the joy in your heart É um resto de mato na luz da manhã São as águas de março fechando o verão E a promessa de vida no teu coração São as águas de março fechando o verão E a promessa de vida it's the joy in your heart

A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road It's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone It's a sliver of glass, it is life, it's the sun It is night, it is death, it's a trap, it's a gun The oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush The knot of the wood, the song of a thrush The wood of the wind, a cliff, a fall A scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all It's the wind blowing free, it's the end of the slope It's a beam, it's a void, it's a hunch, it's a hope And the river bank talks of the waters of March It's the end of the strain, it's the joy in your heart The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone The beat of the road, a slingshot's stone A fish, a flash, a silvery glow A fight, a bet, the fange of a bow The bed of the well, the end of the line The dismay in the face, it's a loss, it's a find A spear, a spike, a point, a nail A drip, a drop, the end of the tale A truckload of bricks in the soft morning light The sound of a shot in the dead of the night A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump It's a girl, it's a rhyme, it's a cold, it's the mumps The plan of the house, the body in bed And the car that got stuck, it's the mud, it's the mud A float, a drift, a flight, a wing A hawk, a quail, the promise of spring And the river bank talks of the waters of March It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart A snake, a stick, it is John, it is Joe It's a thorn in your hand and a cut in your toe A point, a grain, a bee, a bite A blink, a buzzard, a sudden stroke of night A pin, a needle, a sting, a pain A snail, a riddle, a wasp, a stain A pass in the mountains, a horse and a mule In the distance the shelves rode three shadows of blue And the river talks of the waters of March It's the promise of life in your heart, in your heart A stick, a stone, the end of the road The rest of a stump, a lonesome road A sliver of glass, a life, the sun A knife, a death, the end of the run And the river bank talks of the waters of March It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart

Why don't we stop foolin' ourselves? The game is over, over, over No good times, no bad times There's no times at all Just The New York Times Sittin' on the windowsill Near the flowers We might as well be apart It hardly matters, we sleep separately And drop a smile passin' in the hall But there's no laughs left 'Cause we laughed them all And we laughed them all In a very short time Time is tapping on my forehead Hangin' from my mirror Rattlin' the teacups And I wonder- How long can I delay? We're just a habit, like saccharin And I'm habitually feelin' kinda blue But each time I try on the thought of leavin' you I stop I stop and think it over

Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit Blessed is the lamb whose blood flows Blessed are the sat upon, spat upon, ratted on Oh, Lord, why have you forsaken me? I got no place to go I've walked around Soho for the last night or so Ah, but it doesn't matter, no Blessed is the land and the kingdom Blessed is the man whose soul belongs to Blessed are the meth drinkers, pot sellers, illusion dwellers Oh, Lord, why have you forsaken me? My words trickle down From a wound that I have no intention to heal Blessed are the stained glass, window pane glass Blessed is the church service, makes me nervous Blessed are the penny rookers, cheap hookers, groovy lookers Oh, Lord, why have you forsaken me? I, I have tended my own garden much too long

Old friends, old friends Sat on their park bench like bookends A newspaper blown through the grass Falls on the round toes Of the high shoes of the old friends Old friends, winter companions, the old men Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sunset The sounds of the city sifting through trees Settle like dust on the shoulders of the old friends Can you imagine us years from today Sharing a park bench quietly? How terribly strange to be 70 Old friends, memory brushes the same years Silently sharing the same fears

Cloudy The sky is gray and white and cloudy Sometimes I think it's hanging down on me And it's a hitchhike a hundred miles I'm a ragamuffin child Pointed finger, painted smile I left my shadow waitin' down the road for me a while Cloudy My thoughts are scattered and they're cloudy They have no borders, no boundaries They echo and they swell From Tolstoy to Tinker Bell Down from Berkeley to Carmel Got some pictures in my pocket and a lot of time to kill Hey, sunshine I haven't seen you in a long time Why don't you show your face and bend my mind? These clouds stick to the sky Like a floating question, "Why?" They linger there to die They don't know where they're going and, my friend, neither do I Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy

Lena's been burning both ends of her candle She's over her head in complication and scandal But Lena takes her troubles in stride As she runs to the bottle To confess and confide Lena surrenders Lena has taken to flaunting her passions Offers herself in the boldest of fashion But Lena says it's under control As she looks to the bottle To calm and console Lena surrenders Lena Surely you don't believe By hiding in bottles you'll never relieve All the pain love has brought you The fire and the cold Lena Take heart Take heart Lena Surely you don't believe By hiding in bottles you'll never relieve All the pain love has brought you The fire and the cold Lena Take heart Take heart Take heart Take heart Lena! Lena! Take heart Lena! Lena