| 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 | 
| than a guard out of this world | 
| he showed his servant badge | 
| to enter and not pay | 
| as in the cinema the stupid | 
| 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. |