insolito

And with these glorious words, I leave you.

Where are your children? I hear the sound of arms
And of chariots and of voices and of drums:
In foreign lands
Your sons are fighting.
Wait, Italy, wait.

Mario TOILET PAPER... ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Poor Italy, where are we heading to swerve our (s)cented balls. :((

the good old days... | If your eyes were two living fountains,
Never could the weeping
Match your suffering and disgrace;
For you were a lady, now you are a poor maid.
Whoever speaks or writes of you,
Who, recalling your past glory,
Doesn't say: once she was great, now she is not that?

Neglected my Italy, disheartened. WHO MADE YOU LIKE THIS??? ... ehhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

My homeland, I see the walls and the arches
And the columns and the statues and the bare
Towers of our ancestors,
But I do not see glory,
I do not see the laurel and the iron with which
Our ancient fathers were weighed down. Now made defenseless,
With a bare forehead and bare chest you show yourself.
Alas, how many wounds,
What bruises, what blood! Oh how I see you,
Most beautiful woman! I ask heaven
And the world: tell, tell;
Who brought you to such a state? And what is worse,
That with chains both arms are weighed down;
So that with disheveled hair and without a veil
You sit on the ground neglected and desolate,
Hiding your face
Between your knees, and you weep.
Weep, for you have good reason, my Italy,
Born to conquer nations
And in both fortune and misfortune.

are you crazy ???????? MUAHHHHARARAHHHA BUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA

I light up with incense.

And you, slow broom,
Who adorns these bare hills
With fragrant groves,
You too will soon succumb to the cruel might
Of the underground fire,
Which returning to the place
Already known, will stretch its greedy hem
Over your soft forests. And you will bow
Under the mortal bundle, not resisting
Your innocent head:
But not bowed until then in vain
Cowardly pleading before
The future oppressor; but not upright
With mad pride toward the stars,
Nor in the desert, where
Both the seat and the birthplace
You had not by will but by fortune;
But wiser, but so
Much less infirm than man, as your fragile
Lines did not believe
Either made immortal by fate or by you.