Compor e interpretar uma ode assim, não é para todos. Só algumas bandas, muito poucas, conseguem chegar a este patamar lírico. E mesmo nesses casos, só lá muito de vez em quando. A Obra Prima é rara e de difícil parto. Felizmente.
Up on his horse, up on his horse
Not gonna wake up here anymore
Listen one time, it's not the truth
It's just the story I tell to you
Easy to say, easy to do
But it's not easy, well maybe for you
Hope that you find it, hope that it's good
Hope that you read it, think that you should
Cuts you some slack as he sits back
Sizes you up, plans his attack
Da-da-da
Drums please, Fab
And I got it all, I got it all
Waitin' for me down on the street
But now you gotta do somethin' special for me
I'm gonna say what's on my mind
Then I'll walk out, then I'll feel fine
Yeah, I'm under his thumb, I'm on his back
I will not show my teeth too quick
I needed you there, I needed you there
But I didn't know, I didn't know
Go alone
I'll go alone
We'll go alone
I'll go alone
Back from his trip, he's at the door
When he gets back, he's on the phone
Innocent eye, innocent heart
No, it's not wrong, but it's not right
Innocent time, out on his own
Not gonna do that, fuck, I'm out of control
I was just bored, playin' the guitar
Learned all your tricks, wasn't too hard
It's the last one now, I can promise you that
I'm gonna find out the truth when I get back
Gone now are the old times
Forgotten, time to hold on the railing
The Rubik's Cube isn't solving for us
Old friends, long forgotten
The old ways at the bottom of
The ocean now has swallowed
The only thing that's left is us
So pardon the silence that you're hearing
It's turnin' into a deafening, painful, shameful roar
The Strokes . Ode To The Mets
