And if love was war,
then fly over the borders
small soldier of the impossible
with your guns kept inside your bible.
When princesses appear on the front page,
poor despite all their fortune,
you head towards other roads.
Your richness can't be bought.
God may go on holiday.
The keys of Heaven are in your eyes.
At the doors of deliverance
lies the departure time towards other skies.
And if everything improved tomorrow?
I believe in you, little mother.
Your heart beats for centuries.
This treasure under your white sari
is rightly worth all the Vatican's gold.
God may go on holiday.
You who have held so many hands
and appeased so many sufferings,
dried up so many tears broken by hunger.
Cleared the fogs of fate.
God may go on holiday.
It matters little, the name He takes.
Forgive me for this silence
for it's too late, I hate myself so much
for not having said these words before!
Be happy, little mother,
you who have definitely known hell.
The sky glows with your presence.
God may go on holiday.
The sky glows with your presence.
God may go on holiday.