...
...
Wow, I'm sick of doubt
Live in the light of certain
South
Cruel bindings
The servants have the power
Dog-men and their mean women
Pulling poor blankets over our sailors
I'm sick of dour faces
Staring at me from the T.V. Tower
I want roses in my garden bower; dig
Royal babies, rubies must now replace
Aborted strangers in the mud
These mutants, blood-meal for the plant that's plowed
They are waiting to take us into the severed garden
Do you know how pale and wanton thrillful comes death on strange hour
Unannounced, unplanned for
Like a scaring over-friendly guest you've brought to bed
Death makes angels of us all
And gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as raven's claws
No more money, no more fancy dress
This other Kingdom seems by far the best
Until its other jaw reveals incest
And lloose obedience to a vegetable law
I will not go
Prefer a Feast of Friends
To the Giant family
...
Para os crentes, do outro lado, há uma gigantesca família e um banquete de amigos para nos receber algures em Hades depois da travessia de um qualquer Aqueronte...um rio das dores dos que ficam. Abençoados são pois os crentes e o homens de fé.
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário