LOCANDA DELLE FATE - Forse le lucciole non si amano pił

A volte un istante di quiete / Sometimes a while of quietness

Forse le lucciole non si amano pił / Maybe the fireflies don't love each other anymore

...And when the time still
stopped a while in my hair
I invented fairy tales.
The I felt down, but I already had my hands in the pocket
"How many heroes betrayed by the courage
and beguiled by the incense and by weeping
that somebody will sell!
Where do angels go to sleep
and where are illusions and dreams
that nobody buy anymore.
Among uncertain ephemeral shadows..."
Crazy strong heroes
everything was wrong
you lacked the time
to take breath
the blood arrested in the head
and chose for you too!
Dragged by a steal of conscience
fascinated by myths and legends.
Of miracles full our dreams
they don't suffice to us anymore when light comes.
Like a dark curtain always it will rise,
there will be a light, turned on or off
while from the dark in the meantime
a new fairy tale will loom up.
People will look
somebody will get older.
Where monsters and saints die
and God maybe has already descended
two billions tearing eyes
in the face of whom will be laughing.
Disposed in circle
telling your breath to the enemy too.
Together and against
embraced in eternal and unknown dances.
Ostias mucked up of blood
we here asking why
...while
The eyes overstep the limit towards the stars
and two thin wings would be enough for us.
Here's the singing of an old and unhappy drunk
disinfects the anxieties which already overflow.
Too dark the silences of the surroundings and here inside
maybe the fireflies don't love each other anymore.
I don't know how the death smells of incense
and of sounds of glasses and bells.

Profumo di colla bianca / Smell of white glue

Shades rest
in the dark attic
among the rests of a while ago
that time's embroideries
with dust transform.
Old books and notebooks
and a dream remained to reflect itself
in the time
among the ruins of a toy.
Smeel of white glue
found again here
old and new ghosts
confuse themselves.
A thousand glasses reflect
the memories left by a child.
I collect a book of pictures
faded by reality.
Immense wish of closing
the doors on my age.
Shades rest
in the dark attic
among the rests of a while ago
that time's embroideries
with dust transform.
There behind the wall
the wind kidnaps the silence
confused whispers and still tepid voices
of a while...
But the smell of white glue
stopped here
to give my masks to the wind

Cercando un nuovo confine / Searching for a new border

While you're flying high
in the lap of comets come for you
you leave behind you a World
ancient mixture of dreams and reality
"threads that you'll never know
interlaced
tied to immense knots".
You won't have love
but your skin won't get old.
And you remain a flower
a flower that the wind will never damage
"Paths soaked of strange languages
and melancholy which always
forms clear inside us".
You remained here just a while
in silence looking
joyful and tearful together eyes
you lacked time
to understand why...
...while from your heart to your eyes
no cry will go up.
You turn your eyes
to a planet of pebbles
which ever takes around with it
hands legs saliva and breaths
hairs and sexes in happyness anxieties.
Now you're dressed with many light
and the dreams of other worlds
are pictures hung to the wind.
And the stars will love you
without asking who you are
slipping into your heart
or settling themselves on you.
A thousand celestial men
will cherish your nights
while all around
new and sweet sounds you will hear.
You won't have in your heart
the hate hidden in castles and cities
noiseless streets
stolen to the silences of ancient realities.
And you will follow the
astonishing acrobacies
of your lit mind.
"Dances of words
very beautiful games which you will invent
Ancient and new stories
you will count together with the others".
Your thoughts
mirrors of other worlds
will sound sweetly
notes that in the silence
you will listen to... will listen to...

Sogno di estunno / Dream of SummerAutumn

Walking I look at my shadow
sliding over the stones
while the last Summer rain
tells me of the thousand things I don't have.
Today the imprisonment will end
the polyvinyl grid will fall down
Anne your hair will be beautiful
on the dress I will give you.
Little time by now
will remain between us
in this new age.
I will dress with you
the old cloths and then
I will walk barefoot.
Only the friend wind
together with us the veils will embroider.
In the pockets only the soul
immense skies over us.
Lost eternal reigns
and ancient gods burnt in vain down there.
In the pockets only the soul
dreaming for us.
It rains softly on the flowers
of a Summer ago
It rains on the ancient rememberances
of the youth.
Maybe the awaited hour of freedom
has come.
Too many times they betrayed
my naivety... naivety
It's strange you know
the rain falling on the lawn
and the crickets already sing
It's strange you know
Summer has thousand colours
that I almost don't see anymore.
It's strange you know
being so eager to run
and moving slow the steps
not to waste the moment
of freedom

Non chiudere a chiave le stelle / Don't lock the stars

Swarms of bees and like a flower
you will be very beautiful
"Thank you" they will say to you love
maybe you will thank them.
But now don't stop here
fixing "empties" that
you'd burn thence.
If you steal yourself to the eyes
time will make yourself suffer a little
when it will meet you.
Then you will collect the stars
scattered among your hair
the strangest ones, the most beautiful
you will lock on your heart.
If you hide the World to the eyes
you never run any risk
but you will be alone.
"Locked stars" the dreams
will anymore be enough for you
when the Sun will enter.

Vendesi saggezza (e cervello di seconda mano) / Wisdom for sale (and second hand brain)

They will fly over the glasses
thousand times the eyes
searching for spaces thence.
And the brain to a wall
or on a desk "on sale"
in the end you will drag.
To rob myself to the memory slips
maybe this is what it needs
Stop now to pointless orgies
and to regrets of the "over here".
Who knows if, when the rope
will tighten my neck
the mouth will scream?
But... now a butterfly came in
who will tell me about
love born over the flowers.
I already follow its transparent flight
that I will betray soon
with the hands fresh of my weepings
tricky nets I will cast.
Wisdom I'd sell
with the weight of always "equal" talks
and in change I ask her
for the intense secrets of her seasons.
Because from Alice I don't buy anymore now
pink mosaics and silk
and in the end of the darkness
I'm spying whom
maybe will come to awake her.
"I'd fly between walls and photocells
invisible and secret
you will open doors
lawns of moquette
almost real flowers
and a sense of power
But then you will realize
that you can't anymore fly"
"There's a thief in the room
He isn't stealing silver to you nor golden coins
but without making noise
he will wrench to your flights the truest alibis"
No! Stop! Give me the flowers I don't have
I'm not eager anymore to explain
You will be greater than Icarus
you will watch yourself flying