AMMMMMMMMMMMMMOOOOOOO
Amo Marillion!
.............
......................... !!!
Amo Marillion!
.............
......................... !!!
I am the assassin
...
...
To eradicate the problem, my friend,
...
...
within the voice, within the voice...
I am the assassin, with tongue forged from eloquence.
I am the assassin, providing your nemesis.
On the sacraficial altar to success, my friend;
Unleash a stranger from a kiss, my friend;
No incantations of remorse, my friend;
Unsheath the blade within the voice,
my friend, my friend, my friend, my friend
I am the assassin, (assassin, assassin)
Who decorates the scarf with the fugi knot,
Who camouflaged emotion in the thousand-yard stare,
Who gouged the notches in the family tree,
Who hypnotized the guilt in career rhythm trance.
Assassin, assassin, assassin, assassin.
(Assassin , my friend.)
Listen as the syllables of slaughter cut with calm precision,
Patterned frosty phrases rape your ears and sew the ice incision.
Adjectives of annihilation bury the point beyond redemption,
Venomous verbs of ruthless candor plagiarize assassins' fervor.
Apocalyptic alphabet casting spell, the creed of tempered diction,
my friend, your friend, the assassin.
my friend, your friend, the assassin.
A friend in need, is a friend that bleeds...
(my friend, your friend, the assassin.)
A friend in need, is a friend that bleeds...
(my friend, your friend, the assassin.)
Let bitter silence infect the wound,
Let bitter silence infect the wound,
I am the assassin, (your friend)
I am the assassin, (your friend)
I am the assassin, (your friend)
Assassin!
You were a sentimental mercenary in a free-fire zone,
Parading a Hollywood conscience;
You were a fashionable objector with a uniform fetish,
Pavlovian slaver at the cash till ring of success.
A noncom observer, I assassin, the collector... defector.
So you resigned yourself to failure, my friend,
And I emerged the chilling stranger, my friend,
To eradicate the problem, my friend,
Unsheath the blade within the voice,
within the voice, within the voice,
within the voice.
And what do you call assassins who accuse assassins, anyway...
My friend?
I am the assassin, providing your nemesis.
On the sacraficial altar to success, my friend;
Unleash a stranger from a kiss, my friend;
No incantations of remorse, my friend;
Unsheath the blade within the voice,
my friend, my friend, my friend, my friend
I am the assassin, (assassin, assassin)
Who decorates the scarf with the fugi knot,
Who camouflaged emotion in the thousand-yard stare,
Who gouged the notches in the family tree,
Who hypnotized the guilt in career rhythm trance.
Assassin, assassin, assassin, assassin.
(Assassin , my friend.)
Listen as the syllables of slaughter cut with calm precision,
Patterned frosty phrases rape your ears and sew the ice incision.
Adjectives of annihilation bury the point beyond redemption,
Venomous verbs of ruthless candor plagiarize assassins' fervor.
Apocalyptic alphabet casting spell, the creed of tempered diction,
my friend, your friend, the assassin.
my friend, your friend, the assassin.
A friend in need, is a friend that bleeds...
(my friend, your friend, the assassin.)
A friend in need, is a friend that bleeds...
(my friend, your friend, the assassin.)
Let bitter silence infect the wound,
Let bitter silence infect the wound,
I am the assassin, (your friend)
I am the assassin, (your friend)
I am the assassin, (your friend)
Assassin!
You were a sentimental mercenary in a free-fire zone,
Parading a Hollywood conscience;
You were a fashionable objector with a uniform fetish,
Pavlovian slaver at the cash till ring of success.
A noncom observer, I assassin, the collector... defector.
So you resigned yourself to failure, my friend,
And I emerged the chilling stranger, my friend,
To eradicate the problem, my friend,
Unsheath the blade within the voice,
within the voice, within the voice,
within the voice.
And what do you call assassins who accuse assassins, anyway...
My friend?
Um comentário:
"Visão fantástica do poder da palavra..."
Posso deixar aqui palavras de Mabel Spindola?
"Dentro do corpo complexo, mas mortal, existe uma alma imortal
que se traduz pelo verbo e se encarna na palavra. O homem não
satisfeito com o verbo cria a palavra escrita a fim de eternizar o seu
universo interno e torná-lo tão concreto quanto seu próprio corpo.
Não satisfeito em criar a escrita, iluminado pelo eu espírito artístico,
o homem preocupou-se em tornar belo sua parcela imortal.
Assim como o corpo, a matéria é limitada e perecível: a palavra escrita
e falada também são. Não se pode exigir perfeição no plano da matéria,
a perfeição só é possível na arte. A arte literária é a busca pelo belo,
pela perfeição do verbo.
Ser capaz de interpretar a arte literária é intitular-se o deus do seu
universo imortal. De mero leitor passa-se a criador no instante em que
internaliza o objeto lido e o digere para transformá-lo, logo em seguida,
repleto de si mesmo.
Ser capaz de interpretar, não só o objeto lido, mas o mundo que se
esconde por trás de cada termo é comparável à ação criadora.
GERA-SE UMA NOVA VIDA."
Pois é, há tantas possibilidades de significação da palavra que
por vezes não conseguimos compreender a mensagem e nem
chegar às entrelinhas.
Somos tão repletos de nós mesmos....
.
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