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Estaba leyendo mi post anterior, y me doy cuenta que al parecer cada vez que entro al blogger estoy de ánimo caído.
En lugar de Narraciones Extraordinarias debería de llamarlo el Muro de las lamentaciones o algo por el estilo.

Resulta que hace rato escuché la canción de los Beatles "Eleanor Rigby", y me gusta muchísimo, sobretodo el sonido de los instrumentos de cuerda que le dan un toque , a mi parecer dramático.

Pero esta rola tiene un efecto secundario para mí: me causa mucha tristeza. Sinceramente me encanta la letra, pero sufro por Eleanor, que vidas tan patéticas la de ella y la del padre Mckenzie.

No sé, tal vez me identifico con el coro o simplemente me gusta porque soy como Daria que disfruta viendo el programa "sick sick world".

Creo que el momento justifica transcribir la letra:


Eleanor Rigby, picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Father McKenzie, writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at him working, darning his socks in the night when there's nobody there
What does he care

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby, died in the church and was buried along with her name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie, wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?