| Free
|
| we breathe free
|
| in two standing leaning against the door of the Fort
|
| the music from inside fills the night air
|
| it's hot
|
| and the Banana wanted to fight shortly before
|
| «School" Auro and Marco
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| than a guard out of this world
|
| he showed his servant badge
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| to enter and not pay
|
| as in the cinema the stupid
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| unaware
|
| otherwise everything is fine for tonight
|
| but you know the freedom
|
| it depends on which side you are on
|
| and never how you want, never how you want
|
| wandering around to look for her in the city
|
| of course
|
| I was lucky enough to grow up in San Lorenzo
|
| while the heroin was being carried away
|
| we ate flowers, veins and suburban streets
|
| a wounded animal sets the enemy on fire
|
| I don't want to end up in the wrong conflict
|
| the right place does not exist only in the dream of a clear madman
|
| and I am a visionary
|
| I suffer from hallucinations
|
| I can hear songs sounds
|
| among the noises
|
| and cannot understand who is looking from the outside
|
| we look alone on the street
|
| but more and more crowded this house to the point
|
| asking us to pay the bill
|
| I have to get smarter with the others
|
| enough with the scazzi
|
| the right place does not give up after ten years
|
| the right place does not give up after ten years
|
| the right place does not give up after ten years
|
| message to be sent to the hundred thousand madmen who made it real
|
| to a hundred thousand crazy to a hundred thousand crazy
|
| the right place is not just a madman's dream
|
| to a hundred thousand crazy to a hundred thousand crazy
|
| things go on sometimes assaults
|
| then around midnight we leave the Fort
|
| four machines ready
|
| two and two you never know
|
| to my relief NCOT from behind in motion covers the comings and goings
|
| we almost go as far as the junction
|
| then take a deep breath
|
| on the Tiburtina metro line
|
| when I see one after the other come out
|
| I see a handful of strange people in the darkness of a wall
|
| one two seconds of silence
|
| suspended between fear and conflict
|
| courage
|
| if something has to be done it has to be done and I do it
|
| the well-known push poster
|
| cleaned up
|
| a photo
|
| a memory
|
| the clock of Bologna on 2 August
|
| stopped at 10.25
|
| and the inscription
|
| "How does a fascist clean up stations ..."
|
| the world turns tonight
|
| and then the risk of a blow that strengthens the group
|
| and there is no drug that compares
|
| we stop relaxed
|
| with a weed bomb in his mouth
|
| already in the right place
|
| to a hundred thousand crazy to a hundred thousand crazy
|
| the right place is not just a madman's dream
|
| to a hundred thousand crazy to a hundred thousand crazy
|
| things go on sometimes assaults. |