Temps Era Temps
Joan Manuel Serrat
Time Was Time
Time was time... when we left the egg with gold in Moscow, peace on our neck, the fleet at the dock and the tongue in the ass, with symbols cornered, water in the fountain, restrictions and the bogeyman. Time was time... when more than good or bad were mine and they have been the only ones. Time of smuggling and trams, corn flour for dinner and commune and chicken coop in the gallery. Time of One, Great and Free... Metro Goldwyn Mayer... Take it or leave it... Rubber bands and enemas... Quintero, León and Quiroga... Panellets and penellons... Basora, César, Kubala, Moreno and Manchón. Time was time... that early and badly we knew everything: who were the kings, where do children come from and what the wolf eats. All mixed with the pallet, and the Formation of the National Spirit and the first Fridays of the month. Mrs. Francis, do you understand...? with this knowledge, what could be expected of us? If they still don't know, madam, what we will be when we grow up the children of a time, the children of an orphan country. Children of One, Great and Free... Metro Goldwyn Mayer... Take it or leave it... Rubber bands and enemas... Quintero, León and Quiroga... Panellets and penellons... Basora, César, Kubala, Moreno and Manchón.
