Menudas tres voces las de hoy. Si tuviera que elegir siempre elegiría a mi viejo amigo Johnny pero las otras dos no desmerecen para nada.
Sobre la canción, ¿qué decir?. ¿Quién no ha soñado con verdes praderas, riachuelos y bosques y se ha levantado en las mismas putas cuatro paredes de siempre oyendo la cisterna del retrete de los vecinos? En la canción es un preso, en la vida real cualquiera nos podemos aplicar ésto. A ver si en Marzo las cosas cambian y al levantarme por las mañanas sigo viendo la “green green grass of home” …
The old hometown looks the same as I step down from the train
And there to meet me is my mama and my papa
And down the road I look and there runs Mary, hair of gold and lips like cherries
It’s good to touch the green green grass of home
And there to meet me is my mama and my papa
And down the road I look and there runs Mary, hair of gold and lips like cherries
It’s good to touch the green green grass of home
Yes they’ll all come to meet me arms areaching smiling sweetly
It’s so good to touch the green green grass of home
The old house is still standing though the paint is cracked and dry
And there’s the old oak tree that I used to play on
Down the lane I walk with my sweet Mary, hair of gold and lips like cherries
It’s good to touch the green green grass of home
It’s so good to touch the green green grass of home
The old house is still standing though the paint is cracked and dry
And there’s the old oak tree that I used to play on
Down the lane I walk with my sweet Mary, hair of gold and lips like cherries
It’s good to touch the green green grass of home
Then I awake and look around me at the four grey walls that surround me
And I realized I was only dreaming
For there’s a guard and there’s a sad old padre arm in arm we’ll walk at daybreak
Again I’ll touch the green green grass of home
Yes they’ll all come to see me as they lay me neath that old oak tree,
When again I touch the green green grass of home.
And I realized I was only dreaming
For there’s a guard and there’s a sad old padre arm in arm we’ll walk at daybreak
Again I’ll touch the green green grass of home
Yes they’ll all come to see me as they lay me neath that old oak tree,
When again I touch the green green grass of home.
Johnny Cash:
Elvis:
Tom Jones:
