I remember the young one on the Vespa
And the one who wandered around naked
The rich one with the Porsche, on the roads of the north
Slipping down the slopes of the dream
Always the homes of others, or a temporary shelter of our own
The men alternate on the couch
As it starts, that’s how it ends
In the end you are once again crying
I grew used to packing your misery
Into a suitcase
To be thrown into the trunk, to continue on in silence
Without knowing where
Without knowing where
You knocked on love like a house
You waited for someone to open it
And all these years I am after you
Wearing the wounds of necessity
Always the homes of others, or a temporary shelter of our own
The men alternate on the couch
As it starts, that’s how it ends
In the end you are once again crying
I grew used to packing your misery
Into a suitcase
To be thrown into the trunk, to continue on in silence
Without knowing where
Without knowing where
You never stopped to look back
Without closure or separation
The heart has just been covered in black salt
And went and hardened like steel
I grew used to packing your misery
Into a suitcase...