Como colofón a esta minúscula revisión de la poderosa obra del hombre de negro, y siempre en la espera de que llegue el día en que la lluvia cese de una puñetera vez, quiero detenerme en esta deliciosa melodía compuesta por su hija, Rosanne Cash. Y es que no hay mejor homenaje de una hija a un padre, que el hacerle partícipe de tu propia obra musical, la muestra se llama “September When It Comes”. Con este título y en una clara alusión a la llegada del otoño, la composición es en sí la aceptación del fin de la vida y el inicio de otra, la muerte. La misma muerte que el gran Johnny sorteó durante años y que ahora vuelve para ajustar cuentas.
Recuerdo el día que la escuché por primera vez y como me emocioné al pensar en su letra y en la gran voz de su artífice, y más, cuando irrumpe la resquebrajada y casi rota voz de Cash a tan solo 2 meses de su partida definitiva...
There's a cross above the baby's bed,
A Saviour in her dreams.
But she was not delivered then,
And the baby became me.
A Saviour in her dreams.
But she was not delivered then,
And the baby became me.
There's a light inside the darkened room,
A footstep on the stair.
A door that I forever close,
To leave those memories there.
So when the shadows link them,
Into an evening sun.
Well first there's summer,
then I'll let you in.
September when it comes.
I plan to crawl outside these walls,
Close my eyes and see.
And fall into the heart and arms,
Of those who wait for me.
A footstep on the stair.
A door that I forever close,
To leave those memories there.
So when the shadows link them,
Into an evening sun.
Well first there's summer,
then I'll let you in.
September when it comes.
I plan to crawl outside these walls,
Close my eyes and see.
And fall into the heart and arms,
Of those who wait for me.
I cannot move a mountain now;
I can no longer run.
I cannot be who I was then:
In a way, I never was.
I watch the clouds go sailing;
I watch the clock and sun.
Oh, I watch myself, depending on,
September when it comes.
So when the shadows link them,
And burn away the clouds.
They will fly me, like an angel,
To a place where I can rest.
When this begins, I'll let you know,
September when it comes.
I can no longer run.
I cannot be who I was then:
In a way, I never was.
I watch the clouds go sailing;
I watch the clock and sun.
Oh, I watch myself, depending on,
September when it comes.
So when the shadows link them,
And burn away the clouds.
They will fly me, like an angel,
To a place where I can rest.
When this begins, I'll let you know,
September when it comes.