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GOD BLESS AMERICA
Here they go again,
The Yanks in their armoured parade
Chanting their ballads of joy
As they gallop across the big world
Praising America's God.
The gutters are clogged with the dead
The ones who couldn't join in
The others refusing to sing
The ones who are losing their voice
The ones who've forgotten the tune.
The riders have whips which cut.
Your head rolls onto the sand
Your head is a pool in the dirt
Your head is a stain in the dust
Your eyes have gone out and your nose
Sniffs only the pong of the dead
And all the dead air is alive
With the smell of America's God.
Harold Pinter: January 2003
3 comentários:
Bem....
O senhor reza sempre assim?
Já percebo o fascínio pelos seus silêncio.
No mesmo contexto, gosto mais da crueza sucinta de "Democracy":
There's no escape.
The big pricks are out.
They'll fuck everything in sight.
Watch your back.
Harold Pinter, Fevereiro 2003
Pronto se querem Hardcore vejam o post que se segue! (E nem coloco a tradução do Jorge Silva Melo para não chocar sensibilidades aportuguesadas)
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