My father has a common story
Shared by his generation
The jaw in the courtyard spoke
Too many dead have contradicted him
All people who had understood

And the child in the courtyard is playing
Throws stones into 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
Playing with black you always lose
Mussolini also wrote poems
Poets, what ugly creatures
Every time they speak it's a scam

But my father is a calm guy
In the morning he reads many newspapers
He is convinced he has ideas
And his son is a pirate ship
And his son is a pirate ship

And even now a black writing remains
On the wall in front of my house
It says that the movement will win
The new leaders have serene faces
And ties matching the shirt

But the child in the courtyard has stopped
He is tired of following kites
He has sat among close 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

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