Hello? How are you? Hope you're very well, fine, and dandy. And I hope you're ready for more Babelfishing poetry, where I take song lyrics, run them through an on-line translator such as (but not necessarily) Babelfish, alter the punctuation a bit, and wind up with a quirky kind of poem.
This week's featured song is the Rolling Stones' classic ballad "Angie," supposedly about drug addiction (according to Keith Richards, Angie was a pseudonym for heroin) (see the Rolling Stones version here, or Tori Amos' interpretation here, or a solo acoustic guitar instrumental version arranged by Laurence Juber here, or an unnecessarily overwrought interpretation by German rock band J.B.O. here). Enjoy.
E-Mail Cried, Handled All
E-mail, e-mail, create from here.
E-mail, e-mail where can we guide us?
What, no love for their clothing, money and fun?
You are on the third free.
E-mail, e-mail, I had nothing.
Daily e-mail saying you are wrong, but how to say goodbye?
E-mail cried, handled all.
Smokers of all life denied, alas.
You can navigate through the next "tab."
You guide for our Where can mail, e-mail, e.
E-mail, here is a taste.
I do not like eyes force(s).
However, e-mail, e-mail, that time is now.
Either move the e-mail, e-mail, now is the current time.
I love the joy of money of their clothing what-not.
You are free to go to third.
But Angela, I love him for that.
My eyes, where is blind?
Dasum, there is one.
But e-mail, in return for his manners, via e-mail. What is life?
E-mail and e-mail, Vichel.