Somos um monte de histórias mal contadas, Acumulamos destroços. O Mundo ou Nada Na noite sem fim. Permanecemos de pé na noite para ver a manhã chegar A noite cobre as ruas e ilumina com fogo o que nunca nos deixaram ter. A noite é o que sempre quisemos ser. A novidade surge no escuro do presente Para que comecemos eternamente de novo. O Mundo ou Nada Na noite sem fim. A política E a cidade A economia E o trabalho A cultura E o lazer Negamos tudo Negamos tudo Guy Debord, "In girum imus nocte et consumimur igni". We are a bunch of badly told stories And collect wrecks. The world or nothing In the endless night. We stand awake in the night To see the morning come. The night covers the streets And lights with fire Things we were never allowed to have. The night is all we ever wanted to be. The novelty emerges in the darkness of the present For us to start eternally again. The world or nothing In the endless night. Politics And the city Economy And work Culture And leisure We negate everything Always everything.

Chegamos tarde, vezes de mais, Ao que um dia sonhamos viver. Somos manadas de animais Sempre distantes do que sabemos ser. E quando finalmente nos encontramos E os olhares dão lugar às mãos descobrimos que nos transformamos num monte de futuros vãos. Somos projectos Somos planos Somos números Mas com a alma vazia. A maior carência é a da infância Que perdemos para fazer de adultos, a que trocamos pela ganância e por outros pesadelos ocultos. Estamos perdidos Abandonamos tudo lá atrás. Tememos a vertigem do desejo e fugimos dos amores de verão. "As estatísticas não falam disso, mas na nossa sociedade há uma enorme e perigosa carência de infância. Nos homens, nas instituições, na vida de todos os dias." Manuel António Pina We arrive late too often To what we someday dreamed to live. We are herds of cattle Always too distant from what we know we are. And when we finally meet And glances give place to hands We discover that we’ve become A bunch of vain futures. We are projects We are plans We are numbers But with an empty soul The biggest neediness is childhood That we lost to play adults That we exchanged for greed And other hidden nightmares. We are lost And abandoned everything behind. We fear the vertigo of desire And flee from summer love. Statistics don’t show it, but there’s a huge and dangerous childhood neediness. In people, in institutions, in daily life. Manuel António Pina

Curvamo-nos Perante ti. Curvamo-nos Perante ti. Que ainda preservas O mar como paisagem; Que só vês abundância Onde há escassez. Escondemo-nos Atrás de ti. Escondemo-nos Atrás de ti. Somos cínicos profissionais Em performance permanente. Se nos unem as correntes Se nos negam a paixão Não será isto uma prisão? "O velho mundo está a morrer mas o novo tarda em chegar". Erguemo-nos Contra ti. Erguemo-nos Contra ti. "...curvo-me perante ti, que ainda és capaz de olhar para o mar sem ver o óleo, a poluição, os sacos de plástico, as camisas de vénus, os barcos de guerra ameaçadores, que ainda és capaz de preservar o mar como paisagem, mesmo quando ainda não o vês porque estás nesse jogo melancólico, ainda ele infantil de pensar e não pensar." Dinis Machado, "O que diz Molero" We bow down Before you We bow down Before you. You that preserve The sea as a landscape You that only see abundance Where there’s scarcity. We hide Behind you We hide Behind you We are professional cynics In permanent performance. If we are connected by chains If passion is denied to us Isn’t this a prison? “The old world is dying But the new one lingers” We stand up Against you We stand up Against you. "...we bow down in front of you, that are still able to look at the sea without seeing the oil, the pollution, the plastic bags, the condoms, the threatening warships; that are still able to keep the sea as a landscape, even when you don’t see it because you are in that melancholic game, a childish game of thinking and not thinking.” Dinis Machado, O que diz Molero

Êxodo, Exílio permanente, Nómadas, desertores sempre em busca de um deserto qualquer. Em cada jardim vazio Descansa a nossa solidão. Somos todos os momentos / que foram E não voltam mais. Nada temos para vender. Nada temos Nada temos para vender Para vender Somos fugitivos de vidas que ficaram pelo caminho, Odiamos o mundo como quem odeia o desconhecido. Em cada jardim vazio Descansa a nossa solidão. Somos todos os momentos que foram E não voltam mais. Nada temos para vender. Nada temos Nada temos para vender Para vender ------------------------------ Exodus, Permanent exile, Nomads, defectors, Always looking for Any given desert. In each empty garden Rests our loneliness We are all the moments that were gone And will never return. We have nothing to sell We have nothing We have nothing to sell We have nothing We are fugitives Of lives lost along the path. We hate the world As the unknown is hated. In each empty garden Rests our loneliness We are all the moments that were gone And will never return. We have nothing to sell We have nothing We have nothing to sell We have nothing

Autodestruimo-nos para não morrer Mas talvez devêssemos esperar. Esperar como?, Se é o tédio que nos consome E quando já esperamos a vida toda. No trabalho Com o tempo inútil, morto, que damos. Quando obedecemos A homens e a palavras Que nos fazem ninguém. Cometemos suicídio Cometemos suicídio Todos os dias Incapazes de reagir Asfixiamos na escuridão, Convalescemos A enganar a fome. O suicídio não é senão O que ficou lá atrás A olhar de volta para nós. (Vivemos) o suicídio. "I commit suicide when I devote, to hours of absorbing work, an amount of energy which I am not able to recapture, or when I engage in work which I know to be useless.…I commit suicide whenever I consent to obey oppressive men or measures. I commit suicide whenever I convey to another individual, by the act of voting, the right to govern me for four years.…Complete suicide is nothing but the final act of total inability to react against the environment. These acts, of which I have spoken of as partial suicides, are not therefore less truly suicidal. It is because I lack the power to react against society, that I inhabit a place without light and air, that I do not eat in accordance with my hunger or my taste, that I am a soldier or a voter, that I subject my love to laws or to compulsion." Albert Libertad (1875–1908) in “Every day we commit suicide partially” We autodestruct to avoid dying. But maybe we should wait. Wait how? If it’s boredom that consumes us And we already waited our whole life. At work, With the useless and dead time we give. When we obey To people and words That make us nobodies. Unable to react We choke in the darkness. We convalesce Deceiving hunger. Suicide is no more than What was left behind Looking back at us. (We live) Suicide "I commit suicide when I devote, to hours of absorbing work, an amount of energy which I am not able to recapture, or when I engage in work which I know to be useless.…I commit suicide whenever I consent to obey oppressive men or measures. I commit suicide whenever I convey to another individual, by the act of voting, the right to govern me for four years.…Complete suicide is nothing but the final act of total inability to react against the environment. These acts, of which I have spoken of as partial suicides, are not therefore less truly suicidal. It is because I lack the power to react against society, that I inhabit a place without light and air, that I do not eat in accordance with my hunger or my taste, that I am a soldier or a voter, that I subject my love to laws or to compulsion." Albert Libertad (1875–1908) in “Every day we commit suicide partially”