Can you remember? The streets were full of the shiny sirocco
That changes the worn out reality and makes it unreal
(Bologna's) towers seemed to rise in a wide, extravagant move
And in Giudei street sailers were flying like in a canal harbor
You (were) behind the glass of an anonymous bar
Sitting at a table like a French poet
With your usual face, open to dilemmas
And a little bit of the same old red (wine) in your glass
I was thinking to come in to drink togrther
And talk about clouds...
But she came quicly, dancing in the pink
of a percale suit that dressed her hips
And began to talk and ordered something
While in the renown sky the clouds were running in pack
and tears were added to the milk in the tea
and hands were drawning dreams and surenesses
But I knew how you felt crushed
between her and the other, that you didn't now how to leave,
Between your two childs and one ethic and the other
How you looked nailed...
She rose with a final move
then went away and never looked behind
while that wind filled her
of impossible memories
of chaos and appearances
He stayed like one that really doesn't know what to do
Still looking for who knows what kind of solution
But is it better a single day to remember
or to fall back into the same, identical reality?
I don't really know where she is now
If she gave birth to a child or how she makes up her evenings
he lives alone and passes his life
working, (writing) unuseful verse and the same old glass (of wine)
May that that sirocco wind really blow
and come everyday to make us look
Behind the worn out shape of things
In the dark maze of houses
Behind the secret mirror of every face
Inside us...