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, 8 de dezembro de 2011

Ballad of the Corruption that Passes. Adaptation for our corruption of the Ballad of the Wind that Passes, of Manuel Alegre

I ask the corrupt that it passes
for the corruption of my country
and the corrupt silences the misfortune
the corrupt anything I say.

I ask the oils that they take
so much unsheltered Tchavola
the corrupt ones don't calm me
everything takes of this lonely earth.

Everything takes of this lonely earth
oh Tchavolas of my country
without homeland, without light and water
where you do go? The leader never says.

If the hunger defoliates
you die without country
and the group of the four
that you died for your country.

I ask the corrupt that it passes
because it steals us the bread
Torment - it is everything that in the clue
who lives in the corruption.

I saw to flower the green dollars
in the rioted beds
with such few masters
and so many spoiled workers

And the corrupt doesn't tell me anything
and the leader says anything again
I saw my renounced homeland
in the corpses without arms of the people.

I saw myself pariah in the bandits
of the ship-oil tankers in the sea
as who wants to flee
but it is forced to be.

I saw ship-oil tankers of gold
(stateless persons waters)
I lost my homeland, it deserted
(green dollars, misfortunes, sorrows).

There is who wants you neo-colonized
and they are too many harnessed them
I saw you spoiled, tchavolada
in the corrupt guideless arms.

And the corrupt doesn't tell me anything
he shows me, in the dictatorship it insists
I saw the martyrs without homeland
down-and-out, everything sad.

The corrupt never says anything again
he speaks to the Nation everything omitting
in the raids to the people
I see my homeland vanishing.

And the nights to the candlelight
without rulers, without country
I ask news the corrupt
and the corrupt anything I say.

But there is always a candle
that it illuminates our misfortune
there is always a democrat
that he sings to the corrupt that it passes.

Even in the darkest night
in the dictatorship of the spoliation
there is always a martyr that insists
that he riots against the chameleon

that he says is enough, not to the slavery.

Sem comentários: