| Lamezia Milan, round trip
|
| I wake up in the morning and I don't even remember
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| Where I was until yesterday, what did I eat for dinner
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| Because my ass itches and my back hurts
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| Lamezia Milan, suitcase and ticket
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| Space in the air seems to be getting tighter and tighter
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| There are people laughing at the applause of the pilot
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| I only see attachment to life
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| To life
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| With the terror of a holy war
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| And the West locked up in a bank
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| I'm leaving on a white, white week
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| With the metropolis that still enchants
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| And the province stops in the eighties
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| Italy waves the white flag
|
| And sing, and sing
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| Lamezia Milan, round trip
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| Life as a couple is not like a porn video
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| Miss Google tells me where to go
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| Entering straight leg over my mother's voice
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| Lamezia Milan is a crazy journey
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| From grandfather Michele to my nephew Francesco
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| There is a wolf of the Sila among the pigeons of the Cathedral
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| There is an old little boy inside a man's body
|
| Of a man
|
| With the terror of a holy war
|
| And the West locked up in a bank
|
| I'm leaving on a white, white week
|
| With the metropolis that still enchants
|
| And the province stops in the eighties
|
| Italy waves the white flag
|
| And sing, and sing
|
| Uh, uh-uh-uh, uh-uh-uh
|
| I can't see anymore
|
| Uh, uh-uh-uh, uh-uh-uh
|
| The difference if there is
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| Between real life and cellular life
|
| Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-ooh
|
| Oh-oh-oh-ooh
|
| With the terror of a holy war
|
| And the West locked up in a bank
|
| I'm leaving on a white, white week
|
| With the metropolis that still enchants
|
| And the province stops in the eighties
|
| Italy waves the white flag
|
| And sing, and sing
|
| And sing
|
| And sing |