Al caminar por la vida la gente me mira y siento que detrás de su rostro hay un historia maravillosa que podría escribirse. Somos fuertes y locos a la vez. Somos frágiles e insignificantes. Somos ángeles desinformados que buscamos a otros ángeles caídos mientras caminamos por una cuerda suspendida en el vacío. Dios es uno de los nuestros. Alguien como tú y como yo, alguién que sonrie cuando te ve y llora cuando le abandonas. Alguién que quiere huir de sí mismo para, al final, consigo mismo volverse a estrellar. Somos dioses eternos mientras vivimos y efímeros cuando intentamos recordar. Somos bellos porque somos diferentes.
En cualquier instante querrás saltar, abandonar la noria que gira enloquecida, detener la maquinaria perfecta y huir de ese tren plomizo que día a día recorre las venas de la ciudad aplastando tu rostro contra la ventanilla de la rutina, ruidosa y humeante. Querrás soñarte libre durante un segundo, revolcarte sobre la arena de la playa, dar una voltereta en el aire o pedalear sobre una bicicleta sin coger el manillar. Querrás sonreir y transformarte, disfrazarte y maquillarte, y sin ningún pudor empezar actuar.
Sobre la pequeña mesilla de la habitación con la respiración desasosegada tu pequeño cuerpo de angel poderososo se alejaba y en la radio, con el volumen muy bajito, sentí esta canción como una despedida. Ese enorme ángel de acero se desmoronó como un castillo de arena.
En cualquier instante querrás saltar, abandonar la noria que gira enloquecida, detener la maquinaria perfecta y huir de ese tren plomizo que día a día recorre las venas de la ciudad aplastando tu rostro contra la ventanilla de la rutina, ruidosa y humeante. Querrás soñarte libre durante un segundo, revolcarte sobre la arena de la playa, dar una voltereta en el aire o pedalear sobre una bicicleta sin coger el manillar. Querrás sonreir y transformarte, disfrazarte y maquillarte, y sin ningún pudor empezar actuar.
Sobre la pequeña mesilla de la habitación con la respiración desasosegada tu pequeño cuerpo de angel poderososo se alejaba y en la radio, con el volumen muy bajito, sentí esta canción como una despedida. Ese enorme ángel de acero se desmoronó como un castillo de arena.
If God had a name what would it be?/And would you call it to his face?/If you were faced with Him in all His glory/What would you ask if you had just one question?
And yeah, yeah, God is great/Yeah, yeah, God is good/yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah
What if God was one of us?/Just a slob like one of us/Just a stranger on the bus/Tryin’ to make his way home?
If God had a face what would it look like?/And would you want to see if, seeing meant/That you would have to believe in things like heaven/And in Jesus and the saints, and all the prophets.
And yeah, yeah, God is great/Yeah, yeah, God is good/yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah
What if God was one of us?/Just a slob like one of us/Just a stranger on the bus/Tryin’ to make his way home?
Back up to heaven all alone/Nobody calling on the phone
And yeah, yeah, God is great/Yeah, yeah, God is good/yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah
What if God was one of us?/Just a slob like one of us/Just a stranger on the bus/Tryin’ to make his way home?/Like a wholly rolling stone/Back up to the heaven all alone/
Just tryin’ to make his way home/Nobody calling on the phone/’Cept for the Pope maybe in Rome.
And yeah, yeah, God is great/Yeah, yeah, God is good/yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah
What if God was one of us?/Just a slob like one of us/Just a stranger on the bus/Tryin’ to make his way home?
If God had a face what would it look like?/And would you want to see if, seeing meant/That you would have to believe in things like heaven/And in Jesus and the saints, and all the prophets.
And yeah, yeah, God is great/Yeah, yeah, God is good/yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah
What if God was one of us?/Just a slob like one of us/Just a stranger on the bus/Tryin’ to make his way home?
Back up to heaven all alone/Nobody calling on the phone
And yeah, yeah, God is great/Yeah, yeah, God is good/yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah
What if God was one of us?/Just a slob like one of us/Just a stranger on the bus/Tryin’ to make his way home?/Like a wholly rolling stone/Back up to the heaven all alone/
Just tryin’ to make his way home/Nobody calling on the phone/’Cept for the Pope maybe in Rome.