Le Storie Di Ieri - Francesco De Gregori
My father has a common story
Shared by his generation
The jaw in the courtyard spoke
Too many dead have proven him wrong
All people who understood
And the child in the courtyard is playing
He throws stones at the sky and the sea
Every time he hits a star
He closes his eyes and begins to dream
He closes his eyes and begins to fly
And the horses in Salò died of boredom
When you play with black, you always lose
Mussolini also wrote poetry
Poets, what ugly creatures
Every time they speak it’s a scam
But my father is a quiet guy
In the mornings he reads many newspapers
He’s convinced he has some ideas
And his son is a pirate ship
And his son is a pirate ship
And even now there remains a black writing
On the wall in front of my house
It says the movement will win
The new leaders have serene faces
And ties matching their shirts
But the child in the courtyard has stopped
He’s tired of following kites
He sat among nearby memories, distant noises
He looks at the wall and looks at his hands
He looks at the wall and looks at his hands
He looks at the wall and looks at his hands