Il poeta [English translation]

In the evening

At the coffee shop with my friends

We spoke about women and engines

We said they were joyous and painful

He cried and spoke of you

If he went to the province to dance

He looked for the prettiest women

He stayed to watch the stars

He sighed and spoke of you

On paper he was a real champion

They called him the ras of the neighborhood

But one night, playing with scopone

He missed a point speaking about you

And finally one night he killed himself

For his big mental confusion

A sin because he was special

Really how he spoke you

Now they say he could have been a poet

That he knew how to speak about love

What does it matter if in the inside you die

And he can no longer speak about you