Acqua azzurra, acqua chiara

I was little, very little, a child.
Surfing the web, I stumbled upon this song, pressed play and turned the volume up to the max. My father, eavesdropping from the other side of the house, rushed in and barged into my room, eyes wide open. I stared at him in disbelief, and he did the exact same thing. He raised a fist to the sky, with a grip that could bend the toughest of metals, remaining in that position for about 2 minutes until his numb muscles began to give way. The fist changed position, sliced through the air, and as it descended, it struck my face.

<<This, boy, is the strength of comrades>>

I haven't listened to Battisti since that day for fear of encountering that strength again.