I look at the summit and I see higher
a sky, a mountain that everyday
I want to reach
Then I feel that I am not still capable
when will I be it?
I need the balance, the harmony of the tolerance
and an infinity of affections.
How to seek
the justness in the human beings and difficultly to find
Perverse in the black night, more and more distorted
I leave the underdevelopment building footballs stadiums
A country is made with books, with footballs no
A country of football players, full of feet, emptiness of heads
The ball is round, the minds square, obtuse
They lean walls in my brain to block their functions
They inject me contradicted information
factiousness
for he moves to the opposite
The explosions of the musical grenades, of the parties, merrymakings of the deafness neuronic and pathological
Idiots of closed minds that they never open up
The sorcery expands, it is imposed
command. It is another training
in another kingdom
I carried and I unloaded a lot of salt to Europe
and a lot of freedom for some, little, insignificant for none’s
That it arrived of the Russians and Cuban communism for more some years
now tracked by the FAMILY
Portuguese, Brazilian and Chinese
The jasmines are a group of thoughts
Several perfumed harmonies of future
They are streets lost by the balance of our misunderstanding
Without balance we didn't reach our amen
When I look at the jasmines remember the virginity of the fields
Of the free earth and pacifier that spoil me under the feet
Following the law of the survival, I remembered, I am predator
Before they called me my beautiful seraph
My worst enemies are the ones that govern me
In this portion of the Black Continent
The colonialism and the slavery continue
in the different colour
The hell of the men's cruelty is same
The colour changed the colonialists no
Fear to walk in the streets, my Angola
he treats me as criminal
I practice my self-destruction
I addicted me in throwing buckets of polluted waters
He approaches Christmas of the dark nights, of the days without hope
Of the families, of the mothers far away from their orphan children
Correspondents for the biblical skies
for the flood of the weapons later silent (?)
That they try to shoot love and peace
In the parents' temptation that they forgive to their children
Of the present promises to the lonely hearts
Still no conquered in unexpected encounters
Of the fogs of the fogs of my tears
That has-of transforming in river
so that more east Christmas is not dry
And as the best than we have
we know is to continue, to destroy
it only remains us devastating, tumbling
of our mental ruins
Image: Angola em fotos
a sky, a mountain that everyday
I want to reach
Then I feel that I am not still capable
when will I be it?
I need the balance, the harmony of the tolerance
and an infinity of affections.
How to seek
the justness in the human beings and difficultly to find
Perverse in the black night, more and more distorted
I leave the underdevelopment building footballs stadiums
A country is made with books, with footballs no
A country of football players, full of feet, emptiness of heads
The ball is round, the minds square, obtuse
They lean walls in my brain to block their functions
They inject me contradicted information
factiousness
for he moves to the opposite
The explosions of the musical grenades, of the parties, merrymakings of the deafness neuronic and pathological
Idiots of closed minds that they never open up
The sorcery expands, it is imposed
command. It is another training
in another kingdom
I carried and I unloaded a lot of salt to Europe
and a lot of freedom for some, little, insignificant for none’s
That it arrived of the Russians and Cuban communism for more some years
now tracked by the FAMILY
Portuguese, Brazilian and Chinese
The jasmines are a group of thoughts
Several perfumed harmonies of future
They are streets lost by the balance of our misunderstanding
Without balance we didn't reach our amen
When I look at the jasmines remember the virginity of the fields
Of the free earth and pacifier that spoil me under the feet
Following the law of the survival, I remembered, I am predator
Before they called me my beautiful seraph
My worst enemies are the ones that govern me
In this portion of the Black Continent
The colonialism and the slavery continue
in the different colour
The hell of the men's cruelty is same
The colour changed the colonialists no
Fear to walk in the streets, my Angola
he treats me as criminal
I practice my self-destruction
I addicted me in throwing buckets of polluted waters
He approaches Christmas of the dark nights, of the days without hope
Of the families, of the mothers far away from their orphan children
Correspondents for the biblical skies
for the flood of the weapons later silent (?)
That they try to shoot love and peace
In the parents' temptation that they forgive to their children
Of the present promises to the lonely hearts
Still no conquered in unexpected encounters
Of the fogs of the fogs of my tears
That has-of transforming in river
so that more east Christmas is not dry
And as the best than we have
we know is to continue, to destroy
it only remains us devastating, tumbling
of our mental ruins
Image: Angola em fotos
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