[Stanza #1: Murubutu]
And looking at it from the park in Cardo Street
And the sun there was a herald, the canticle of heat
And the sky there dripped tiredly onto the cars,
Its pale mark upon every gaze
And everything there was grey and white
Offices and traffic, every park was a graveyard
And every building a barrack, a slot,
An exhausted pachyderm of lime and asbestos.
I'll run away from this free port, ominous place
Prepare your eye for the impact:
Suburbs of rivers and waste,
Trails of jolting lights,
Streets of grazing, drifting wolves.
And this space crushes dreams in two minutes
One on the other as if on the conveyor belt (as if on marble)
Pulverizing them in an upward toss
As if in a lightning
And (makes) confetti of the soul.
And a wind warmed his morning thoughts
And Paolo there watched the world, sitting on a cast iron bench
"Will I ever be able to run from this line?
The borders of my life over the borders of these grey suburbs
Or will I stay here like train station moss,
With my joy that melts after hours behind the counter
Or with the boredom that gets stranded into people's eyes
And then gets out of them in the dark in the smoke of tinfoils.
Only the Sirocco wind1 gives me hope
Him2 that passes and warms every land by brushing it
The only one able to run beyond these streets
(The one) that even when staying in place after a while is able to go away
Him2 that blows and dances, turns and rises,
Matches drops of rains with lines of air,
Him2 that crosses time and sea, storm and mountains
Then stops to flirt with sails in the shipyards."
And Paolo watched his whereabouts, (watched) the borders become tighter
And friends become more like spectres, (watched) the silhouettes of Eternit roofs
"What are you waiting for? Leave belongings and loved ones, quick."
Off with the locks on the two-stroke, mirrorless Benelli3
And when he started the motorcycle it was a nice day there;
To those who saw him on the road and asked "Paolo, where are you going?"
"I'll follow the wind and I have no purpose and I have no place
But a detailed map to be able to never come back."
[Refrain: Murubutu]
And away from here, away from here, away from here
I travel on roads of air
Going towards Utopia and
Away from here, away from here, away from here
But tell me where, eh!
And away from here, away from here, away from here
I travel on the roads up there
Towards undiscovered course, man
And away from here, away from here, away from here
But tell me where, yeah
[Stanza #2: Rancore]
This unruly world
Has a peeling face,
Beasts in jails that pray in apnea,
Parties in this crumbled archipelago
That cuts itself off from everything and then feels like Pangaea.
Paolo will hear laments coming from
Submerged continents that sing the verses of that epic
Now that he's on a salty meadow, (now) that he'll count
Wind roses grow amid the high and low tide.
The sunset that was awaken became the stalls
For an audience that then introduced itself as a starry sky;
A veil, Paolo tensed every muscle and sped up
Moving from ruined asphalt to dirt
Black, like a hole inside the dark while at the corners
Of the woods sounded the old proverbs of trees:
You never destroyed all the monsters, by copying them
The weapons you bought you now throw away, confetti!
The audience of stars left the theatre applauding,
The dawn started to blend her self-portrait
And Paolo on the last toll asked that rising dawn
For one finishing touch to the painting.
The motorcycle was found but it wasn't damaged,
It was a heap in the middle of a road without pavement.
The town (was) embittered, the atmosphere mortuary among the shadows;
The grey suburbs mourned, they didn't get the roads of air.
Got it? What Paolo said to that dawn
That looked to him like a painter sounded cocky, foolish:
"Paint me, even as transparent as a word,
But paint me forever as Sirocco wind.
No, the fact that I won't come back isn't an important concept;
I won't be biannual nor easy to tame
And, going hand in hand with the Levant4 and the Austro5,
I want to tear the sea and throw it against the Mistral6
I want to blow, inflate, water every candle,
Steal leaves of fire leaving a trunk of wax;
That evening I stole just for you
The windiest rose from the salty meadow of rose gardens."
Dawn, plucking a petal from south-east
And using it as brush, painted the story for the great sailors;
Now it's said there's a wind that carries
A map with the right course
To never come back.
[Refrain: Murubutu]
And away from here, away from here, away from here
I travel on roads of air
Going towards Utopia and
Away from here, away from here, away from here
But tell me where, eh!
And away from here, away from here, away from here
I travel on the roads up there
Towards undiscovered course, man
And away from here, away from here, away from here
But tell me where, yeah
1. South-easterly wind of the Mediterranean, it brings warmth and, in some places, rain.2. a. b. c. Personification of the Sirocco.3. Brand of motorcycles.4. Easterly wind of the Mediterranean.5. Southerly wind of the Mediterranean.6. North-westerly wind of the Mediterranean, brings cold and storms.