The truth is something that hurt me
The truth is something I can't listen to
The truth is that deep down my courage
Is a flaw, but I can't give up

The truth is something that hurt me
The truth is something I can't listen to
The truth is that deep down my courage
Is a flaw, don't abandon me

My courage is fleeting
But it's a flaw, it gets in the way
OK, should I jump in? Should I try? But I stumble again
You never took a stand, you coward
With the bullied boy in the churchyard
Outside of Purgatory the soul spits hatred in its accusatory tone
Cry me a flood, turn this house into a lake
I measure it with a stick because I either touch or drown
And I see the world a bit blurry
Inside a broken chalice, how many tears I've shed
Baudelaire, Bohème, Voltaire
My brother, with you how many pages I've turned
You spit sentences like Minos
I don't even give mimosa flowers to less attractive women
Picked from a hidden hedge, yo
When you expose yourself it's worth more than a hundred sessions
You look at yourself and analyze your shortcomings
Value yourself like the D.O.P. does with light points
But if there's no transparency the cause-effect chain breaks
Every half truth you've said comes back
And you're back at the starting point, baby, looking at yourself in the mirror (looking at yourself in the mirror)
Remember that we don't see things as they are, but as we are

The truth is something that hurt me
The truth is something I can't listen to
The truth is that deep down my courage
Is a flaw, don't abandon me

(If I asked you about love you'd probably recite a sonnet)
(But looking at a woman you've never been completely vulnerable)
(Feeling that God sent an angel to earth just for you, just for you)
(To save you from the abysses of Hell)

I attract what I think if you reveal the secrets of the universe
It's quantum physics, I told the professor, I was better at essays
Better a fake intellectual than a fake criminal
But I'm not pretending, please, it's the habit of smoking before speaking
I have the rhetoric of the approximative, but also the eye of the director
The pharmacist's grass, the lyricist's mind, the mouth of truth
The hand of the poet, the knuckle broken from the fight
I have the sweat of effort, the taste of defeat, the scent of ruin
I have tears of joy like those of someone who reaches the top, Tedua

The truth is something that hurt me
The truth is something I can't listen to
The truth is that deep down my courage
Is a flaw, but I can't give up

Hell and Paradise are around us
Truth or lie, you no longer know what you want
What hurts less, you no longer remember

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