O NOME DO MEU ANJO (© Patrícia Evans)
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Eu vou perguntar a Ele
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Eu vou perguntar a Ele
sobre o nome do meu anjo,
este filho da puta, que julga
orgulhosamente guardar-me e guiar-me
e entretanto eu sofro como uma cadela,
com as pedradas que me atingem
e essa merda de falta de senso de direção.
Eu vou perguntar a Ele
sobre o nome deste anjo,
que eu acho deve estar sempre bêbado
ou de cacho com alguma diaba vadia,
que tenho andado em círculos,
meus amores me traído,
meus princípíos falidos
e quanto mais o chamo
menos ouço uma resposta;
parece surdo aos meus apelos,
acho que são as drogas,
que deve conseguir nas esquinas,
a razão de seu desapego;
as esquinas desses becos imundos,
esses finais de mundo,
em que anda me levado.
Este anjo que me guarda,
que é a minha estrela guia,
não deve querer trabalho,
porque ouço o rolar dos dadinhos
e o trrrrrrréxi do baralho.
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Preciso do nome dele,
Preciso do nome dele,
pra colocar na boca do sapo!
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THE NAME OF MY ANGEL
(© Patrícia Evans)
(© Patrícia Evans)
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I will ask Him
about the name of my angel
This son of a bitch who proudly declares
he is my guard and my guide
while I suffer as a dog
I will ask Him
about the name of my angel
This son of a bitch who proudly declares
he is my guard and my guide
while I suffer as a dog
with the stones that pelt me
and no fucking sense of direction
I will ask Him
about the name of this angel
who I think must be always drunk
or having an affair with a demon slut
for I have walked in circles
my lover has betrayed me
my principles have failed
and no fucking sense of direction
I will ask Him
about the name of this angel
who I think must be always drunk
or having an affair with a demon slut
for I have walked in circles
my lover has betrayed me
my principles have failed
and the more I call for him
the less he responds to me
He seems to be deaf to my pleadings
It must be the drugs -
he certainly buys on the street-
the reason for his disregard
These streets and filthy alleys
from the end of the world
where he has led me
This angel who says he guards me
who is my guiding star
doesn't want any real work or job
for I am always hearing the rolling of dice
and the stttttrrrrech of cards
!!!!!
I need to know his name
to put it in the frog's mouth.
the less he responds to me
He seems to be deaf to my pleadings
It must be the drugs -
he certainly buys on the street-
the reason for his disregard
These streets and filthy alleys
from the end of the world
where he has led me
This angel who says he guards me
who is my guiding star
doesn't want any real work or job
for I am always hearing the rolling of dice
and the stttttrrrrech of cards
!!!!!
I need to know his name
to put it in the frog's mouth.
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I guess it's all down to 'faith' again... One 'hellava' write, from a brilliant lady!! Come back and write for Us Tricia!!
I've been trying to guard you but dear old Smirnoff keep calling my name rightly.. and you keep calling me 'Angel' while that's not my real name.. do you even know my middle name?
very interesting.
Abdul Malik
Lot of anger and frustration. What if He is not there and you are barking up a wrong tree?!
Streeeeeetch waiting for the invisible man baby The streets of Glasgow can identify with your lovely poetic poem.
The power behind the anger in this poem are unbridled I love the passion in it and the way you describe the flaws in his Character.
like the way it goes from angel to the streets and back and forth again mixing the urban with the esoteric, feels original and very powerful...dig it... tony
Sounds a lot like you have meet a real player. They are a couple I know of, too. Roses to you Tears of Roses
Very nice, so full of emotion. Especially liked the ""and the stttttrrrrech of the cards"" really got the sound across which is so important and unfortunately can be easily lost, really felt like i were listening and not reading.
HMmmmm ... perhaps your interesting Poem has revealed the kind of service one might receive from a 'virtual guardian angel' ... a modern pretender ... that flies across the world wide web instead of the blue skies of the real world nearby. Religion begins to look less attractive than reality when it seems its angels are corruptible. Thanks for sharing this warning tale of virtuousity! Love 'n (sad frog) Stuff, RHEY ...
The frog prince or the guardian angel with soiled robe and tattered wings. The protector who has abandoned his charge for the temptations of world. Powerful write!
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