Irene, tonight I would tear your face off
So you would scare the world but you would always remain mine
In this pitch-black night, which perhaps was tomato black
My Red Brigades hands caress you who are Aldo Moro
And you read in the stars that music will give us bread
You must have left realism at some fair trade market
Irene, don't believe too much in the zodiac
Because music only gives daily bread to those who are celiac

The future I could have given you I have
Exchanged for the vinyls I have in the attic
I will give them to you when you have lost hope
And you feel defeated
The future I could have given you
In the end is a rip-off, better
That you marry an engineer
A notary or a dentist
Or, or, or your analyst

An investigative light, the color of lemon soda
Burns strong in this room and incinerates the evening
And while you sleep a trickle of saliva shoots from your mouth
Precise like a kiss never given or a clock that chimes
Irene, the songwriters say that the important thing
It's not how many times you fall, but if you have the courage to get up
But after a thousand scorching falls
All that remains is to learn to live like snakes

And the future I could have given you I have
Exchanged for the vinyls I have in the attic
I will give them to you when you have lost hope
And you just want to be quiet
The future I could have given you
In the end is a rip-off, listen
Run away from all this
Run hard, while you can
Remember me as Neville Longbottom
In a world of Draco Malfoy

Irene never trust
The lyrics of my songs
Especially those to paraphrase
Which are the worst
And trust in fresh bread
In winter mornings
And in paradise only if
Only if seen from hell

The future I could have given you I have
Exchanged for the vinyls I have in the attic
I will give them to you when you have lost hope
And you feel defeated

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