Rime ladre [English translation]

You’ve lived your perfumed childhood

among rows of smiles and caresses,

stuffed with absurd certainties and myths,

predisposed to easy and greedy dreams,

a classical germ of doubts and fears,

those same you had when, be honest,

you believed in the boogeyman.

Soft hips and perky cute butts

have fired up your beardless fantasy

and you wasted your first insolent erections

among the folds of your pants,

promising yourself that one libertine day

you wont’t flush it down the toilet anymore

the pride of your sex.

But it was enough the first vaginal warmth,

consummated in its magical ritual,

so that, believing it was the heart,

you were already speaking of love.

Run, run, naughty bunny,

that the night has brought you a beautiful baby,

he’ll be fat, he’ll wear glasses, he’ll be swarthy,

he’ll be, above all, timid and insecure,

with your eyes you’ll make him see the world,

he’ll be dull and delicate like a lily,

he’ll really be your son.

Run, run, desperate puppet,

fill quickly with rug rats your little theater;

your family will break your fears,

it will certainly be your trophy, your mattress.

But be careful because someone has already realized

that having your eyes, your mouth and your nose

has been just a case.

Don’t tell me that you're tired, you're destroyed,

that after all you’ve always given everything to life.

The fear of being alone, my soldier,

has always screwed you.

Take it easy, you mustn’t worry:

for the damn love I have for you,

for the somewhat coward fate that unites us,

for this anxiety that we’ve have always had,

I won’t reveal to anyone this secret;

only to these few, too thievish, rhymes

I’ll tell that you’re my father.