.

If you see my daughter
don’t tell her I’m scared
forty days without water
feel my hands on her hair

I fear.

-Alan Sparhawk

El mundo no está para canciones dulces (clic derecho abrir en nueva pestaña).

Ilustración del maestro Ben Heine, por supuesto.

8 Comentarios

  1. ¿Por qué nadie comenta aquí?

  2. ¿Aman a Jorge Doble U?

  3. Colunos.

  4. claro que no! si a muchos nos cae en la punta!

    yo creo que como no tienen palabras lindas que decir, mejor no dicen nada…

  5. Ah, menos mal.

    Yo voy con Barak.

  6. Cito a Ernesto Cardenal: “nada bueno puede esperarse de NINGÚN presidente de los Estados Unidos”.
    Yo coy con Fidel (hasta la victoria… siempre)

    (Chaless, cuando sale lo rojillo, sale)

  7. Je, es cierto.

  8. I pounded on a farmhouse
    Lookin’ for a place to stay.
    I was mighty, mighty tired,
    I had gone a long, long way.
    I said, “Hey, hey, in there,
    Is there anybody home?”
    I was standin’ on the steps
    Feelin’ most alone.
    Well, out comes a farmer,
    He must have thought that I was nuts.
    He immediately looked at me
    And stuck a gun into my guts.

    I fell down
    To my bended knees,
    Saying, “I dig farmers,
    Don’t shoot me, please!”
    He cocked his rifle
    And began to shout,
    “You’re that travelin’ salesman
    That I have heard about.”
    I said, “No! No! No!
    I’m a doctor and it’s true,
    I’m a clean-cut kid
    And I been to college, too.”

    Then in comes his daughter
    Whose name was Rita.
    She looked like she stepped out of
    La Dolce Vita.
    I immediately tried to cool it
    With her dad,
    And told him what a
    Nice, pretty farm he had.
    He said, “What do doctors
    Know about farms, pray tell?”
    I said, “I was born
    At the bottom of a wishing well.”

    Well, by the dirt ‘neath my nails
    I guess he knew I wouldn’t lie.
    “I guess you’re tired,”
    He said, kinda sly.
    I said, “Yes, ten thousand miles
    Today I drove.”
    He said, “I got a bed for you
    Underneath the stove.
    Just one condition
    And you go to sleep right now,
    That you don’t touch my daughter
    And in the morning, milk the cow.”

    I was sleepin’ like a rat
    When I heard something jerkin’.
    There stood Rita
    Lookin’ just like Tony Perkins.
    She said, “Would you like to take a shower?
    I’ll show you up to the door.”
    I said, “Oh, no! no!
    I’ve been through this before.”
    I knew I had to split
    But I didn’t know how,
    When she said,
    “Would you like to take that shower, now?”

    Well, I couldn’t leave
    Unless the old man chased me out,
    ‘Cause I’d already promised
    That I’d milk his cows.
    I had to say something
    To strike him very weird,
    So I yelled out,
    “I like Fidel Castro and his beard.”
    Rita looked offended
    But she got out of the way,
    As he came charging down the stairs
    Sayin’, “What’s that I heard you say?”

    I said, “I like Fidel Castro,
    I think you heard me right,”
    And ducked as he swung
    At me with all his might.
    Rita mumbled something
    ‘Bout her mother on the hill,
    As his fist hit the icebox,
    He said he’s going to kill me
    If I don’t get out the door
    In two seconds flat,
    “You unpatriotic,
    Rotten doctor Commie rat.”

    Well, he threw a Reader’s Digest
    At my head and I did run,
    I did a somersault
    As I seen him get his gun
    And crashed through the window
    At a hundred miles an hour,
    And landed fully blast
    In his garden flowers.
    Rita said, “Come back!”
    As he started to load
    The sun was comin’ up
    And I was runnin’ down the road.

    Well, I don’t figure I’ll be back
    There for a spell,
    Even though Rita moved away
    And got a job in a motel.
    He still waits for me,
    Constant, on the sly.
    He wants to turn me in
    To the F.B.I.
    Me, I romp and stomp,
    Thankful as I romp,
    Without freedom of speech,
    I might be in the swamp.

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