Simone Cristicchi
Vorrei Cantare Come Biagio

I would like to sing like Biagio Antonacci (me like Tim Buckley)
I would like to weigh like Biagio Antonacci (do you even know how much he weighs?)
Sign autographs to the fans, fill up the arenas (instead, I'd like to fill the fans and sign the arenas)
And do what Biagio Antonacci does (like? Make money?)
I would like to dress like Biagio Antonacci (like an Italian pop singer from the late '90s?)
I would like to live with Biagio Antonacci (if I were gay?)
If ever since I was little my idol was Jim Morrison (Excuse him Jim, he doesn't know what he's saying)
With Rambo and Rocky, now it's just Biagio Antonacci (if Stallone finds out, he'll shoot you)

I enjoy the esteem of my peers and as much as I'm nostalgic, I've never been on Paolo Limiti (those who esteem you are not your peers, but a bit more delayed than you, quite like Limiti, there)
The limits I have, I acknowledge them, I am Little Red Riding Hood lost in these artistic undergrowths. (You have many limits, you're the princess on the pea)
Believe it, they tell me, believe it and you'll get to Palalottomatica or Festivalbar, (and that's what you can aspire to, well done)
trust me, they say, trust me, you can make it. But I feel like a benchwarmer condemned to stand-by. (I feel like a paninaro condemned to a Game Boy)
My singer-songwriter colleagues value me a lot, the general managers and even the producers, (singer-songwriters? Ha ha! Comedians perhaps!)
this niche audience loves me, but I feel as small as a lentil. (you're many lentils today, you can't feel alone)

I would like to sing like Biagio Antonacci (...and who cares?)
I would like to weigh like Biagio Antonacci (...and who cares?)
Sign autographs to the fans, fill up the arenas (...and who cares?)
And do what Biagio Antonacci does (...and who cares?)
I would like to dress like Biagio Antonacci (...and who cares?)
I would like to live with Biagio Antonacci (...and who cares?)
If ever since I was little my idol was Jim Morrison (...and who cares?)
With Rambo and Rocky, now it's just Biagio Antonacci (...and who cares?)

Your light music is heavy, you find it on cd, lp, and on keyboard discs, (as heavy as Antonacci?)
while you'll find me around some nights, in a venue where there's definitely no line outside. (there is a line, there are many of you in bad shape)
Unfortunately, we don't keep each other company at the top of the charts (here, gather at the top of a skyscraper and decide once and for all)
The construction of a success is always an alchemy of music and lyrics, (here, you built the -cess, you just need the suc-)
you're a great master, I dedicate this piece to you and hope you'll return the favor. (I would do like Stallone, what do you say, Bià?)

I'm good at writing songs, yes, but you more, but you more, (yes but not by much, eh?)
I'm good at giving emotions, yes, but you more, (what?)
but how much longer will I have to give it my all (4 or 5 centuries? Will they be enough?)
how long and I still feel like I want to get sick because (we also feel sick when you play on the radio)


Unfortunately, I am not Biagio Antonacci (luckily there's someone who tells you: "A li mortacci!")