And then I just woke up quite good
With a very urban happiness
Formed by those strange – sunday
Morning – struggles.
The scent of the newspaper is always exciting,
I don’t read the news, I don't really have the brain:
I wait for the evening with passion,
Since waiting is part of the binge.
And this lonesome happiness
Expands to the people, to things,
Mixing with the air.
Men are truly poets,
So cute and spellbound,
You cannot separate them from their hopes,
They’re [really] chained to it.
They’re sitting in sunny restaurants
With their terraces just over the sea,
There is like a more frivolous mood
Joining the tastefulness of the food.
Or [they’re] in a fair,
They’re happy as they were getting younger,
With those little goldfishes,
With the usual rollers,
not the coaster ones1.
With that artificial fires2 and pastry,
Everything comes out:
Binges are joyful belches.
Men are full of strength,
They are truly upstanding and wild,
You cannot separate them from their happiness,
They’re [really] chained to it.
And then there are the discos – such an orgy –
Where you throw yourself in and you dance wildly,
It’s irresistible and, even if you don’t want to,
You waggle, you swing all over.
Disco music
Is the only language connecting the whole world:
Someone in there enjoys himself a lot,
And there is who complains about life
– toddling.
And beyond the notes you reckon
The meaning of music-less air:
The death’s breath.
Men are resourceful,
They are freed animals,
You cannot separate them from their feelings,
They’re [really] chained to it.
And then there is the hired pleasure,
Pouring out colorful and fat stories:
A nice movie containing all the ingredients
That are liked by the masses.
They stand there, staring,
And they eat up everything without even a hiccup:
I3 would want to offer them as a prize,
A nice jar full of shit
For 2000₤.4
And without a second thought
They’re ready to fight over
For that kind of amusement.
Men are really morons,
Sadly they’re completely ravaged:
You cannot separate them from their dumbness,
They’re [really] chained to it.
1. In Italian “roller coaster” is “montagne russe”, lit. “Russian Mountains”. I tried to make the same linguistic joke with the correspondent English term2. The fireworks3. In Italian it is an impersonal “you”. Since it is cleared that is a wish of the author, I preferred to translate it with an “I”4. 2000 Lire on the 1978 corresponded to ~10,400€ (2001)