| Much more than the ground beneath my feet
|
| Here I miss voices and the city
|
| And I miss you, because I haven’t seen you
|
| Since I’ve been here
|
| We went up before the shift ended
|
| To the factory roof to see
|
| Whether from up there we could finally see
|
| The one who got us fired
|
| The first day he took off almost hurriedly
|
| With us above and the others arguing below
|
| But whose faces are those above the roof
|
| And what do they have to look at?
|
| Then the patrol car came tearing in
|
| And a little boy waved from a window
|
| Before night fell
|
| The television crew set up shop
|
| But no, I’m not coming down
|
| Not even the television
|
| Can make me come down
|
| No, I’m not coming down
|
| You go ahead
|
| And go on television
|
| Like passers-by during a sudden downpour
|
| Crammed into a doorway’s only shelter
|
| The people downstairs crushed themselves
|
| Around the eye of the broadcast
|
| 'A relative of mine was up there on the roof.'
|
| 'outsourcing's to blame as far as I’m concerned'
|
| Everyone wanted the microphone
|
| To say something on television
|
| And while darkness sank into the streets
|
| And onto the gates and railings of Turin
|
| And the light had gone out on the balcony
|
| Where that little boy was
|
| I thought for an instant that I saw you
|
| Among the others showing solidarity down there
|
| But it wasn’t you and I stayed up
|
| On the roof camping out
|
| Days and nights have gone by since that day
|
| And there’s traffic in the streets again
|
| Only rarely is there someone who lifts their gaze
|
| And watches me watching
|
| My comrades have gone, too, and I understand them
|
| It isn’t so easy to stay
|
| If there’s someone waiting for you
|
| If you have someone you can tell things to
|
| And so, all alone now, I keep watch on my own
|
| And I no longer care about getting down or going back
|
| Or even about knowing
|
| Who got us fired
|
| Unchanging days go by and I don’t count them
|
| Let them take away the breath of those who follow them closely
|
| I’ll stay here and, for now, make do
|
| With a little boy’s wave |