If I were an Angel, who knows what I would do? Tall, blond, invisible, how handsome I would be. And what courage would I have, oh-oh, ah. Making the most of myself, it is clear that I would fly. Gypsy, free, I would go around the whole universe, and here I would go to Moscow, to Kiev, And further down, in Israel and Palestine, Talking to America, and if they don't put me down, I'd talk to the Russians too. Angel, if I were an angel, With a biblical gaze, I would fix them. I'll give you two hours, two hours tops; Then I would piss on your head, On your trades, On your dollars (dollars), On your beautiful factories of missiles (of missiles). If I were an Angel, I would never be in processions, In the nativity boxes. I'd be sitting here, eating good ice cream, To the sweet freshness of the hedges. I would be a good Angel; I would talk to God. I would obey him by loving him my way (my way). I would talk to him in my own way and tell him, "What do You want me to do?" (The powerful, what scoundrels; and what do you do? Do you forgive them? But then you're wrong too!) But then I wouldn't talk anymore. An Angel, I would no longer be an Angel. If they kick me down, at most I would be a devil, And frankly, I don't like that. But then, what is hell? Apart from the heat (the heat it is), it's no different than here! Because I feel that; I'm sure of it. I know that there are millions of Angels, And that you do not see them in the heavens but among men. They are the poorest and the loneliest, Those caught in the nets. What if God were still born among men? I would obey him, loving him in my own way, My own way, My own way.
