È per la causa della mia inconsapevolezza che son avvallato
inservibilmente trascorre il tempo che mi è stato dedicato
la mia esistenza è insignificante per l'universo
barman vieni a interpretar il senso del mio venir.
I'm not seen as it yet, so
I can't say it, but though
Yoù re more special that the world
population so... Yes! I am.
I write, don't you?
doesn't everyone?
As you used to try but you're not good at it.
I think, I knew what you meant
but I even know that you can,
look at me
I can't speak
I'm from above
in a region where words
are different by nouns
but I try harder everyday
and I wish that I may
a day, being seen as I say
as the writer of the books in wich my poems stays.
Remember
As you has your woman,
There is a man that caresses your skin.
While you forget her,
There is someone else that makes you feel important.
As you put it at the corner
a man tends his hand
Remember
You from thorns and tears
and a man treats its petals
You take away the dreams
He touches the heart
Be careful thou who by your woman
for granted
You may find that as you kill
illusions, someone gives the colors.
Sinking into the ice of thou heart
My hand trying to reach the core
I feel blood dripping out
As my touch harsh as a cry
Grips into your memory-foam
Shouting silently I hear thou voice
The sound of a creeping laugh
Echoing from the deepest part
Of a lonely heart.
A nervous biting of the fingers
to keep the usual thoughts at bay
and an annoying hunger that lingers
make me wonder why I should stay.
I’m forgetting what it’s like to be caressed by a stray ray
of sunshine that from a prison of leaves broke free,
condemned to a life sentence within this society’s walls.
Keep telling myself I’ll soon get away,
but it never happens
and day per day life slips away.
Brought up within the walls of this prison
Convinced that thinking for yourself is treason
Nine to five and for a break therè s a season.
But I refuse to cooperate
I retaliate.
And in society's ass I'm a thorn
'Cause inside I've got a storm
that can't be constrained in a city shaped dome.
Lifè s puppeteers, whoever may they be
are certainly fond of toying with me;
After long searching for love,
I found myself falling for one.
I thought her placed wonderfully in my vision;
of course I did, she was my own creation.
So foolish as to think the dream real,
now I'm even grieving in knowing her forever disappeared.
Amber necklace, crystal heart;
you and me: worlds apart,
but seeing the luminescence in your eyes
I reminisced my soul's sunrise.
Ich liege am Strand, die Augen geschlossen,
tiefe Stille und Frieden im Herz...
höre die Schreie der Möwen im Wind...
im Sand spielend ein glückliches Kind
Dunkle Wolken verdecken die Sonne
Stürme peitschen das tosende Meer...
Öffne die Augen und schau auf den Wecker
es ist 7 Uhr am Morgen...
ich bin erwacht.
Quando a árvore dos poemas não dà poemas,
Seus galhos se contorcem todos como mãos de enterrados vivos,
Os galhos desnudos, ressecos, sem o perdão de Deus!
E, depois, meu Deus, essa lenta procissão de almas retirantes...
De vez em quando uma tomba, exausta à beira do caminho,
Porque ninguém lhe chega ao lábio o frescor de cântaro,
a doçura de fruto que poderia haver num poema.
Maldita a geração sem poetas que deixa as almas seguirem
seguirem como animais em estúpida migração!
Quando a árvore dos poemas não dà poemas,
Qual serà o destino das almas?
Quando l'albero delle poesie non dà poesie,
I suoi rami si contorcono tutti, come le mani
di sepolti vivi,
Rami nudi, rinsecchiti, senza il perdono
di Dio!
E poi, mio Dio, quella lenta processione di anime
emigranti...
Di tanto in tanto una cade, sfinita, sul ciglio
della strada,
Perché nessuno le reca al labbro la frescura di
brocca d'acqua,
La dolcezza di frutto che potrebbe esserci in una poesia.
Maledetta generazione senza poeti che lascia
le anime incamminarsi,
Incamminarsi come animali in stupida migrazione!
Quando l'albero delle poesie non dà poesie,
Quale sarà il destino delle anime?