And if I were a singer I would be strange to write verses, verses that bounce on a folding wall. Verses who bow to the passing notes and taking shape of hands. Rough hands working and shopping bags filled with that break along the road is wet from the rain. Follow an orange down the sidewalk that rotoloa up to a puddle of stars, to the moon. She locks her wrists and do not know if it holds to keep it going or to keep him. She cries but they are only drops of dew on a leaf that gets drawn by the frost. It 's a teaspoon of sugar in hot coffee to enjoy it with her nose, her hair raised by the blast of a door is opened and the tinkle of the bell alerts you that someone has entered or is finally out dallla your life in your life, through your life has passed, with or without you. Verse without rhyme, without heart, love, pain and color without tip to those who make only his duty, because life must be like. A road that winds along the soft, dark eyelashes caress the cheek of a pillow with its smell, carmine red, clean and hair. Pour a cold winter out of focus in the ashes of a cigarette and never smoke, such as violins artfully printed for the advertisement of a car that runs and runs and runs while the mountains become plains and the snow is dry beneath her and only her wheels: the search for the impossible and even absurd wanted anything. Lies as truth, as the smooth surface of a fat cat looking for food and slow. Crazy .. rinsavimento crazy moments from giagiglio stuffed. Get up, now. Drawing elephant dancers light as a feather, beautiful, not the soul, not inside. Belli along their trunk and big ears like wings. Verses thrown in the air like eagles coins in wishing well and in order that break up the reflections and thoughts of young people kidnapped by the brands of the moment. Concert crowds praising dream that can not be. Nine, numbers and letters in a row like pearls in a series of books whose pages flow with the rhythm of beating the second un'ancestrale need for love. Emotions such as dogs, domesticated: sit, take, back, left. Waking up one morning without an alarm clock and find the sun through the blinds, illuminating the dust as the star on stage, made of what we have always been. You'll learn not to step on a blade of grass because one day our world will be. Shave your thoughts unfriendly and incompetent until you get back, to find a hot meal, a name on, a moment of poetry. And the day ends and you know what to say in the room yellow and blue. A landslide of peanuts on your belly and just laugh at every single corner of things, looking at the eye eye eye eye eye.
