9:00 Friday night, after two days of rain…
I ink my papers the same color as the water on the streets.
Looking at a notebook of rhymes from ’93,
There was a photo of me and you in front of part of a train.
And so, because they (these memories) were forgotten so much, they come back stronger.
And even more difficult, they insist on how and when we left each other,
On why today I feel the blues, even after years have passed…
I watch the TV, full of banal concepts.
A friend suggests a move* somewhere else. He throws out the pile.
And it doesn’t have the sense to go away. I think of how you were making me remain.
I turn off my cellphone…
It will rain the night that
They will be only regretful smoke and coffee (to me).
And it will still be dark. There will be no moon.
My dear ex, there will be no moon.
Look at how a man "matures" without kindness.
He lets go of misery and then swears excuses that are worth rubbish.
He punches doors, waking up the neighborhood.
He comes to blows with what was already impolite.
The night calls you (the woman) “drunk.” :
You want to make the project of a lifetime.
He finds himself in bed with one of your friends
He thinks only of himself, shares his love in sex.
He has beautiful words, but keeping what he promised
Was never successful for him: too egoistic to compromise.
So, I was set (in my ways). And now, I confess, listening to your piece...
Among my favorite of my old records...
I drink a beer. What I would like is whiskey...
I have a scar in my heart with your name on it.
But want you to be happy, light years from this song.
And from the evil that I did, he will know to heal you
While I count my mistakes, to understand you too late…
Chorus
The moon says “move the tide and the human heart.”
However, I understand none of this. I live in Milan. The ocean is far away.
When we went out, it was different. There were always intense lights.
Now, I see opaque signs and it has been raining since November.
…My beautiful stain**, I miss every argument / quarrel.
It’s missing - the taste of returning and finding you at home,
The smell of a borrowed T-shirt,
Your voice, which comforts me to make peace in a
Pull-in on the high-way
And so many things unsaid, small retaliations
You hang up my picture on the wall and he plays darts.
Maybe I matured at last, with delay.
Ahh,*** queens don’t choose commoners.
Maybe I love you…
Chorus