The queen and the soldier

The soldier came knocking upon the queen's door
He said, "I am not fighting for you anymore"
And the queen knew she'd seen his face some place before
And slowly she let him inside.

He said, "I've watched your palace up here on the hill
And I've wondered who's the woman for whom we all kill
But I am leaving tomorrow and you can do what you will
Only first I am asking you why."

Down the long narrow hall he was led
Into her room with her tapestries red
And she never once took the crown from her head
She asked him there to sit down.

He said, "I see you now, and you are so very young
But I've seen more battles lost than I have battles won
And I've got this intuition says it's all for your fun
And now will you tell me why?"

The young queen, she fixed him with an arrogant eye
She said, "You won't understand, and you may as well not try"
But her face was a child's, and he thought she would cry
But she closed herself up like a fan.

And she said, "I have swallowed a secret burning thread
It cuts me inside, and often I've bled."
He laid his hand then on the top of her head
And he bowed her down to the ground.

"Tell me how hungry are you? How weak you must feel
As you are living here alone, and you are never revealed
But I won't march again on your battlefield,"
And he took her to the window to see.

And the sun it was gold, though the sky it was gray
And she wanted more than she ever could say
But she knew how it frightened her, and she turned away
And would not look at his face again.

And he said, "I want to live as an honest man
To get all I deserve and to give all I can
And to love a young woman who I don't understand
Your highness, your ways are very strange."

But the crown, it had fallen, and she thought she would break
And she stood there, ashamed of the way her heart ached
And she took him to the doorstep and she asked him to wait
She would only be a moment inside.

Out in the distance her order was heard
And the soldier was killed, still waiting for her word
And while the queen went on strangling in the solitude she preferred
The battle continued on

Suzanne Vega, The Queen and the soldier

Travamos demasiadas batalhas. A maioria delas completamente desnecessárias. Batalhas, vezes de mais, não profundamente questionadas. Simplesmente aceites, na velocidade do tempo ou nas vontades alheias. Batalhas que nada acrescentam. Batalhas impostas. Difíceis de mudar. Batalhas que tantas vezes nos consomem. Estou cansado de tantas batalhas. Mesmo das que trazem o ouro e os louros das vitórias. Demasiadas batalhas. Cansado de lutar por batalhas que já pouco ou nada me dizem. Que deixaram de fazer sentido. Um dia também hei-de dizer como na música desta Senhora que adoro: "I am not fighting for you anymore" nem que seja, talvez, o meu último dia. O dia, talvez, da minha última batalha.