AGOSTO EM COIMBRA (UMA ANTEVISÃO): Não haverá, seguramente, castanheiros em flor. Com um pouco de sorte, talvez haja Ella aqui. E, mesmo sem sorte, eles terão bourbon e outras zurrapas para evitar a dessecação. Mas o Tom Waits e esta gaita de foles vão martelar-nos a cabeça o mês inteiro:
Town with no cheer
Well it's hotter 'n blazes and all the long faces there'll be no oasis for a dry local grazier there'll be no refreshment for a thirsty jackaroo from Melbourne to Adelaide on the overlander with newfangled buffet cars and faster locomotives the train stopped in Serviceton less and less often There's nothing sadder than a town with no cheer Vic Rail decided the canteen was no longer necessary there no spirits, no bilgewater and 80 dry locals and the high noon sun beats a hundred and four there's a hummingbird trapped in a closed down shoe store
This tiny Victorian rhubarb kept the watering hole open for sixty five years now it's boilin' in a miserable March 21st wrapped the hills in a blanket of Patterson's curse the train smokes down the xylophone there'll be no stopping here all ya can be is thirsty in a town with no cheer no Bourbon, no Branchwater though the townspeople here fought her Vic Rail decree tooth and nail now it's boilin' in a miserable March 21 st wrapped the hills in a blanket of Patterson's curse the train smokes down the xylophone there'll be no stopping here all ya can be is thirsty in a town with no cheer
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