You were you
You were you, I was the jukebox.
I played Sam Cooke for you,
but you didn’t look over once.
I wanted a dance. I wanted a scotch.
I wanted you to take your hand off of her.
You were wearing your best smile
and the shirt that makes your eyes green.
If you had asked, I’d have told you
her hair looked like plastic.
But then, my mouth was plastic.
I weighed 300 pounds.
I glittered like 1972.
A man tried to seduce me with quarters
but I could hear his truck outside,
still running. I was loyal to you.
I played Aretha, Marvin, the Reverend Al.
You kissed her all the way out the door.
Later, I tried to make my own music,
humming one circuit against the other,
running the needle up and down.
The bubbles in my blood were singing.
In the morning, they came to repair me.
Tu estavas tu, eu estava jukebox.
Meti Sam Cooke para ti,
mas não te viraste uma única vez.
Quis dançar. Quis um uísque.
E quis que tirasses a mão de cima dela.
Performavas o teu melhor sorriso
e a camisa que faz com que os teus olhos fiquem verdes.
Se me perguntasses, ter-te-ia dito
que o seu cabelo parecia de plástico.
Mas então, minha boca era de plástico.
Eu pesava 136 quilos.
Brilhava como se fosse 1972.
Um homem tentou me seduzir-me com moedas,
mas consegui ouvir a sua carrinha lá fora,
ainda ligada. Eu era leal a ti.
Pus a tocar Aretha, Marvin, o Reverendo Al.
Tu beijaste-a até à saída.
Mais tarde, tentei fazer a minha própria música,
cantarolando uma pista contra outra,
movendo a agulha para cima e para baixo.
Cantavam no meu sangue as bolhas.
De manhã, vieram consertar-me.
