It was six in the morning, but
Drunk with the eyes full of drowsiness
We were smoking the next day
But the more I look at you, the more I don't remember it
Lying down at the hotel, turning on the telly
Now it's three, who knows if you're doing well
If you want, come to my room and drink
I'll be insensitive but I won't change for you
Today my mouth
Knows about what I don't drink
Like the Coke I left there
In a bar in Naples
I'm going slow, slow, but
I want to run like a jaguar
I had a hundred dreams, bro
You, sitting at the kebab place,1
You ask me what I'm doing
I'm writing home, I'm not stealing, I'm not dealing
The more I think about you here
The more I fall into quicksands
Maybe it was morning, I don't know
Maybe late at night or it was sunrise
I was thinking about you, losing my patience
Staying without you is like staying at the field with no ball
If you come here I'm drinking some Tanqueray2
In your future, remember
How you sit down in the car happy, motionless
Today my mouth
Knows about what I don't drink
Like the Coke I left there
In a bar in Naples
I'm going slow, slow, but
I want to run like a jaguar
I had a hundred dreams, bro
You, sitting at the kebab place,
You ask me what I'm doing
I'm writing home, I'm not stealing, I'm not dealing
The more I think about you here
The more I fall into quicksands
I'm going slow, slow, but
I want to run like a jaguar
I had a hundred dreams, bro
You, sitting at the kebab place,
You ask me what I'm doing
I'm writing home, I'm not stealing, I'm not dealing
The more I think about you here
The more I fall into quicksands
1. In colloquial Italian, a kebabbaro is someone who prepares and sells kebab, often in a small space.2. A brand of gin.