The mercy seat, el Asiento Peligroso y más cosas

Como prefiero sin duda la mitología artúrica a la judeo-cristiana y la vuelta del dux bellorum a la del hijo del carpintero, no puedo no pensar en el Asiento Peligroso (Siège Périlleux, si queremos ser pedantes) donde se sentará Galaaz (pero que antes freirá a unos cuantos caballeros) antes que en el Hilasterion. No sé vosotros.

Porque, además, todos sabemos que Arturo comparte piso en Avalon con Marilyn y con Elvis. El hippie del otro, en cambio, nadie tiene muy claro dónde vive. Seguro que en una casa okupada.

Aunque me temo que el señor Cave prefiere, como explicación al adulterio, la paloma y la virgen a la transformación física de Uther en Gorlois. Aunque, como Gorlois muere mientras Igerne cree que está con ella, la cosa tiene más glamour y culmina con una espada en una piedra.

Falso, culmina mucho después con otro adulterio (y muchísimo glamour: heridas que se abren, pinturas en casa de un hada y demás historias) y una batalla muy grande en los llanos de Salisbury. Pero si empiezo, me emociono.

Además (y ya paro), que cada año en Pentecostés haya una aventura distinta (y qué seguridad tenían que tener en que la habría, cuando no se sentaban a comer nunca hasta que aparecía -que el irreverente del autor de Jaufré les haga salir a buscarla, ya que no se presenta y tienen hambre, y que, encima, el responsable resulte ser un caballero que se transforma en bicho feo para putear al rey es otra cuestión-) tiene más emoción que que un año venga el Fantasma Sagrado ese (de verdad lo he visto traducido así y desde entonces no puedo llamarlo de otra forma) y te ponga fuego encima de la cabeza para aprender idiomas... Putos intelectuales! Que leyeran traducciones, como hacemos los demás...

Necesito dormir más por las noches.

A todo esto, la canción va de un condenado a muerte y la silla eléctrica.





It began when they come took me from my home
And put me in Dead Row,
Of which I am nearly wholly innocent, you know.
And I'll say it again
I..am..not..afraid..to..die.
I began to warm and chill
To objects and their fields,
A ragged cup, a twisted mop
The face of Jesus in my soup
Those sinister dinner meals
The meal trolley's wicked wheels
A hooked bone rising from my food
All things either good or ungood.
And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
A tooth for a tooth
And anyway I told the truth
And I'm not afraid to die.
Interpret signs and catalogue
A blackened tooth, a scarlet fog.
The walls are bad. Black. Bottom kind.
They are sick breath at my hind
They are sick breath at my hind
They are sick breath at my hind
They are sick breath gathering at my hind
I hear stories from the chamber
How Christ was born into a manger
And like some ragged stranger
Died upon the cross
And might I say it seems so fitting in its way
He was a carpenter by trade
Or at least that's what I'm told
Like my good hand I
tatooed E.V.I.L. across it's brother's fist
That filthy five! They did nothing to challenge or resist.
In Heaven His throne is made of gold
The ark of his Testament is stowed
A throne from which I'm told
All history does unfold.
Down here it's made of wood and wire
And my body is on fire
And God is never far away.
Into the mercy seat I climb
My head is shaved, my head is wired
And like a moth that tries
To enter the bright eye
I go shuffling out of life
Just to hide in death awhile
And anyway I never lied.
My kill-hand is called E.V.I.L.
Wears a wedding band that's G.O.O.D.
`Tis a long-suffering shackle
Collaring all that rebel blood.
And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
And anyway I told the truth
And I'm not afraid to die.
And the mercy seat is burning
And I think my head is glowing
And in a way I'm hoping
To be done with all this weighing up of truth.
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
And I've got nothing left to lose
And I'm not afraid to die.
And the mercy seat is glowing
And I think my head is smoking
And in a way I'm hoping
To be done with all this looks of disbelief.
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
And anyway there was no proof
Nor a motive why.
And the mercy seat is smoking
And I think my head is melting
And in a way I'm helping
To be done with all this twisted of the truth.
A lie for a lie
And a truth for a truth
And I've got nothing left to lose
And I'm not afraid to die.
And the mercy seat is melting
And I think my blood is boiling
And in a way I'm spoiling
All the fun with all this truth and consequence.
An eye for an eye
And a truth for a truth
And anyway I told the truth
And I'm not afraid to die.
And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of proof.
A life for a life
And a truth for a truth
And anyway there was no proof
But I'm not afraid to tell a lie.
And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I'm yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
And a truth for a truth
And anyway I told the truth
But I'm afraid I told a lie.