We try to fit in beautiful scenes
in sunday marinas, full of seagulls,
in big after-lunch conversations where grandpas sing
in nights near the fire, holding a blanket.
It's about being the lovely guys of the neighbourhood,
the ones who dance and dance, until musicians stop playing,
and bursting, arrogant, showing our best vests
into discos with women with steady jobs.
And sometimes, we get it
And sometimes, we get it
And sometimes, a stupid thing suddenly indicates we get it
And sometimes, a carom suddenly demonstrates we get it.
We try to look good in the magnificient altarpiece,
of those who turn around with monolithic composure
and face life looking directly at it
and one day, happy, they buy flowers to their mother.
We try to struggle along, to be honorable people,
the model father that daughters want,
the one with deep voice, the one with strong hand,
who pays a vermouth and who fixes a door.
And then closing the eyes and feeling the world, quiet,
and two little birds tweeting on the top of a tree
having finished a great epitaph
that will make smile all the passers-by.
And sometimes, we get it
And sometimes, we get it
And sometimes, a stupid thing suddenly indicates we get it
And sometimes, a carom suddenly demonstrates we get it.
And sometimes, we get it
And sometimes, we get it
And sometimes, a stupid thing suddenly indicates we get it
And sometimes, the virgin comes down and suddenly reveals us that we get it
And sometimes, against the odds, a really silly thing, turns upside down everything we thought was logical
thus making obvious
that for a moment
we get it.