Viagens não propriamente descritíveis que nos lavam os pensamentos, ofuscam o olhar e deleita cada um dos outros pobres sentidos. São sentimentos trazidos numa voz inconfundível, mágica e intensamente profunda. Palavras proferidas com sentimento. Palavras. Música. Música. Música. Música. Música. Música. Música.

"
I was five and he was six
We rode on horses made of sticks
He wore black and I wore white
He would always win the fight

Bang bang, he shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down.

Seasons came and changed the time
When I grew up, I called him mine
He would always laugh and say
"Remember when we used to play?"

Bang bang, I shot you down
Bang bang, you hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, I used to shoot you down.

Music played, and people sang
Just for me, the church bells rang.

Now he's gone, I don't know why
And till this day, sometimes I cry
He didn't even say goodbye
He didn't take the time to lie.

Bang bang, he shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down...
"by Nancy Sinatra

bang bang.|he's gone.|bang bang.| gone for shure.
|"She took my silver spurs , a dollar and a dimme
And left me craven for, more..."|