Among the rubbish and donuts at odd hours are flown,
fat bus pursues me down the avenue.
And the dawn is a punch in the face towards which the arms,
broke the world outside the Porta San Vitale.
is being Petroni wake up, prepare books and coffee, and I dance with
Snoopy and Linus Argentine Tango with a casque. If I were more
cat, if I was a bit 'more vagabond,
would see in this sun, I would see in the dawn and the world, but there
from dirtying the dress and it is to crease his vest,
Mom find me here at dawn on a clean, 43 Blacksmith! The musical geniuses
announced in the newspapers and have officiated
sacred verses are sung, the electrical
crazy, dreams, and heal diseases,
are poets, saints, miracles and Vati.
trembling with joy and I follow them from the bottom of my city, then closed the threshold
give vent to my foul should: listen to Bach!
If only deal with my life like the death
I clown, Janissaries, dwarfs to amaze your court, but
imperious voices calling me and I must come back because I have a place to
old jester here in Via Paolo Fabbri 43. The witty intellectual
trancian parts and manuals, then
care are exhausted cynicism,
the faces are pale and weak smiles
only have when it comes to structuralism. Basically I
nice, since I met
Descartes,
but think if the songs me recensisse Ronald Barthes. If I were
academic, teacher or doctor
you were awarded in a toga of 15 honorary degrees, but at school I was a little
Latin
and pop is not for me,
you graduate in songs and wine here in Via Paolo Blacksmith 43. Jorge
Luis Borges promised me last night to speak personally with
Persian poets
but the sky is a bit 'crowded these days,
maybe I'll get a job as a bailiff or clerk.
I'll have to polish their mirrors,
Kayyam to transcribe quatrains, but
a laurel (from engineering minor) for me, on my honor, will not fail.
If I had courage, if I had opened all the doors,
Greek and turning to fire on your forehead,
but you know what you think of the time, and what he thinks of me:
Be wise as I am happy being here Paolo Fabbri 43. The little unhappy
met with Alice
a summit for popular song.
Marinella was not there, makes life in the dance hall,
and other things to think to think about. But my drunken
not change, only now
bevon more, and the friar
the stops to make sure the speaker on TV.
If I were a poet, if I were smarter and better looking I would have ribbons and ruffles French
for your hat,
but my heroes are poor, they ask too many
because
already drunk in the morning I wake up screaming in the street Locksmiths 43 .
Heroes Kawasaki sweaters with colored van
squander on the streets quickly and blondes.
personally austere dress in blue because I hate black
and I'm afraid even to ride a bicycle.
Rejected for military jet-set,
not cry, but I buy the Clark,
if I have to emigrate to America as my grandfather take the tram.
If all I came out, if I had opened all the gates would
words ornarti garlands from her hair! But mothers and moral
me close, return to play me, do
a party, with cats and poets here at dawn on a Blacksmith 43.
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