In Angola they feel prisoners political accused of any crime. They say that it is a democratic regime that it is in the middle of the joy of their functions. The democratic potencies close the eyes and they point that it is like this that it is good, that it is like this that it is made the stability in Africa. Here is the income of the terrorism of which Europe is not gotten to loosen. Who supports the corruption and their dictatorships, in the bottom it is also terrorist without the knowledge.

quinta-feira, 21 de janeiro de 2010

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (107). Because we are not entitled to the silence? Because only the sound of the terror invades us?

This democracy forces us the senses with their sounds of the repetitive power, no alternative, horribly tiresome. As if we were to attend always a same soccer game. As if nothing else existed.

With so much free earth, open spaces, frees
The power subtracts us, it kills us for tiny space
They keep insistent promises of new life of the hunger
that they ennoble the class politicizes of the sounds oil company’s
The power is reborn the hunger also. The rivers of the power are torrential,
the one of the hungry persons, dry, emptiness, anxious
This to govern, it imposes us the illegality as survival
It is as a castle without drawbridge. As soldiers without ammunitions
that they surrender to the inevitable death

If you don't obey you will never be ordered
Because who is going for priest
it is because he doesn't know how to do anything else

Look! They are to workout for the alcoholic Olympic Games
They lost common sense. Not to believe in God is easy
But there is another God no invented that he has any stranger's thing, unknown
Enigmatic in our syntony
To govern with the lie is to suffocate the truth
In Jingola and in other kingdoms the democracy is exercised by the police politicizes
that it uses the unhealthy secrecy of the information cooked in primitive ovens

He washed, I continue to wash clothes. I am independent laundress
The dictatorship that tumbles the power for the violence with her will fall

We lived the last moments of our existence
We chose for the suicide collective. But my power will expire, I will be immortal
as our heroes, forgotten, abandoned, give to the powder of the time
Like this! We didn't recognize the true merits of those that deserve them
Exiles, we were without History
Lost in the space and temporary enigmas of the colonies
again colonized
Everything begins and it ends in the weapons. They remain the minds traumatised

I lost the stamp of my Road. I will never again find it
No longer I know how to walk, I gorge of walking
They strayed of the common sense, returned the kill us
With so much earth to only cultivate the wind knows how to sow
Rain to flood, the waters will spread
who will govern me?!

I enjoy the fright electoral medieval. I voted for! Parliament, deputies
in the bleachers
Of the somatic outdated for the retrograde speed
Biped it falls pieces without replacement. They ignore where they are, what is
The enclave relating to prison is personal, it oppresses the slaves' cultural ingenuousness

The power to be, to continue, nothing to change
They got!.. Maybe for the canned foods, mattered
Our genes altered. We are genetically canned, modified
I don't have name, I am a soul of the other world
Cannot I think!? Is a very dangerous activity
The death is the last interposed resource, no assisted
and they get happy with my misfortune


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