AS HIMSELF

La mia foto
Roma, Italy
He was born in a lazy tuesday.Just purple flowers around his cradle.Silence and purple flowers.The ancient Fathers whisper their secrets in his ears, before he went away, stolen by the wind, blessed by the moon."You are a travelling man" they said him.The roads of his life were just placed in the other side of our world, but when he became a man he felt the emptiness of the desert,and the acrid smell of the asphalt from the streets of the unknown. So he began writing poetry, singing against the night walls, searching for his home, taking his bag. He was a travelling man. And that's just a chosen destiny tale.

domenica 6 aprile 2008

Lost in La Mancha

Leave this crazy horse,
i love a stupid poem of life
run away and spend your time,
honey, i'm a selfish fire

I adore your night caress,
so i write foolish letters,
and i know i'm not fearless,
honey, i fight windmills

I dont' know what about this time,
this is my La Mancha,
i hope you'll say goodbye,
i swear i'm a good guy

Riding this silent land
i met a old writer song
whispering purple sand,
it stole my mother tongue

Honey, you're my Dulcinea
but i embrace the open field
and a mistake is what i feel,
i cry, i smile, listen to my plea

I dont' know what about this time,
this is my La Mancha,
i hope you'll say goodbye,
i was a sincere good guy

My name is El Quijote,
but now i miss my mind,
i'm lookin' for your pain,
i only hear the wind,

And a song getting me sane
properly getting me fine
awfully kissing a love crime,
the lips of a perfect bad guy

[Testo: the Rob's; Musica: cercasi compositore]

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