Culodritto Francesco Guccini
But how I wish I had your eyes, wide open to the world like absorbing sheets
and your laughter, pure and full, almost without regrets or remorse,
but how I wish I could still look at everything like the books to be perused
and still have everything, or almost everything, left to try...

Culodritto, you who leave assured, transforming live pirate chromosomes
of Lombards, Celts, and Romans of the ancient plain, of mountain dwellers,
little queen of remote controls, of absolute gnosis that you assert and ask,
of suspicion and faith in the curious world of the great,

even if you won’t have my earthy brawls of fields, courtyards, and streets
and you won’t know what the taste of grapes stolen from a row is like,
soon you’ll realize how easy it is to make an unnecessary science software
and you’ll see how confusing the problem is to use your own experience...
Culodritto, what do you want me to say? Just that it always takes effort
and that living is always the same, but that's ancient history, Culodritto...

give me your hand again, even if squeezing it is just an excuse
to feel that total trust of yours that no one has ever given or asked of me;
fly, fly away, where I would like to fly to a world where everything is still to be done
and where everything is still, or almost everything...
fly, fly away, where I would like to fly to a world where everything is still to be done
and where everything is still, or almost everything, to get wrong...