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Feather Drug
2.16.2011
Movie - Exit Through The Gift Shop
Exit Through The Gift Shop é um filme de Bansky sobre a história de Thierry Guetta, um Francês emigrado em Los Angels que filmava tudo com a sua câmara de video, e numas férias em França acaba por se apaixonar pela Arte Urbana.
Divirtam-se e passem a quem acharem que gosta.
Download (já com legenda em PT)
2.12.2011
Verse - The New Fury
They've got themselves a new spin
On the story, twisted for one-sided glory. Devastation soon
Becoming fuel for the masses new fury. A greedy hand in
The guise of a good man. So threatening. So deafening.
So silencing, that familiar stance. The burden now passed
To us, we lose our footing but still try to stand.
No control.
No more rules.
"Perpetual war for perpetual peace", turn a
Blind eye to poverty while manufacturing new enemies. The
New slave's south of the border, murdered or overseas. We
Still struggle with the fact that one percent has ninety-nine
On their knees. Washington's drawing up war plans, while
There's still no hope for the homeless man. No one should
Have to live under these men, iron fists with gun in hand.
No more control.
No more rules.
They try to make you
And me live life by their design: No free thought. No free
Speech. No peace of mind. They make a move to confine.
But they'll never silence me as long as I can Breathe!
2.11.2011
Have Heart - Pave Paradise
How many miles until I get out of this rectangular box of hell?
Because these four same faces
in these overcrowded spaces
have me praying for the places
that will leave me one minute to myself
(along with)
the foreheads glued to window-panes
the sore-backs from kitchen-wood floors
And all the sitting, sitting, sitting in a van -- and yet I still want more?
When there's a million more miles to roam,
I think of the life left for me back home:
A "paradise" to watch their "greener grass" grow,
and all the time to be alone...?
But two weeks home cripple me
because the trees don't pass
and the lines don't move
as the white walls collapse
on my ramblin' boy blues that's howlin'
howlin' for that open road because
no arms can hold
no home can warm
like the gaze of the rays of a distant lost-highway sun.
When there's a million more miles to roam,
I think of the life left for me back home:
A "paradise" to watch their "greener grass" grow,
and all the time to feel alone.
pave paradise
put the keys in
turn the engine
let the big green van drive me from this city
to anything but simplicity
To anywhere from this city,
To anything but simplicity.
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