| Any text I write in blood
|
| Jurnata ca 'me passes was born
|
| And after all those sleepless nights
|
| I will know how to recover never tired
|
| Look when I hear this call
|
| Ca fa bastard quann 'son
|
| It spreads between my evenings
|
| And the metropolitan lights
|
| Some people who still believe in fairy tales
|
| I have long since stopped telling her even to believe what the heck!
|
| I go up inside like rats with burrows
|
| The shadow of the pen on the sheet moves in jerks
|
| When the strength is always mind, heart and dick
|
| These quatrains hurt between: a strap shot
|
| My words between the smog and this sun beats down
|
| Then turn it on I'm bob between who takes it back!
|
| I get lost among the letters composed of ink
|
| To become a monster, the Mare Nostro is needed
|
| Yes, however, 'ngap you have to be okay
|
| Without nor, if, sounds and the place falls out
|
| You say it's far away, yes, but we reach it in between
|
| I write with blood as soon as I hear his call
|
| And I found it always close to reality
|
| And it's music, at the same time, I'm coming to 'piglià
|
| And yet today, when it is 5 o'clock, from my shutter you can see colors from the
|
| garden
|
| Sleep comes from behind the scenes
|
| I close my eyes in hiding and then leave as an illegal traveler
|
| And po 'quann' t'adduorm, nun saccij ca te suonn
|
| Ricit ambress ambress who knows what she remembers
|
| Rhymes remain in mind
|
| Music my prize, endless past
|
| And follow the road
|
| Towards who will save me or who knows how to go about it
|
| While everything flows I'm up composing, I throw down this tower
|
| Who is destroyed and still runs!
|
| (You know those moments when you feel very down, you don't know how ...
|
| How much paranoia!
|
| There is only one thing to do ...
|
| Send away, send away, send away, send away from here)
|
| It's stormy out here for my poetry
|
| But inside there is this obsessive mania
|
| That's what's left from here in the end
|
| Microphone that warms the soul at the start (x2) |