Quelli Come Me

You -- Chick... there's that guy over there...
for all those like me -chick- for those who know who they are and where they're going and know that...

It's a diversity due to a genetic issue or an ethical reason, not political or musical, it's the same old story succumbed to a dramatically simple situation that complicates it and turns it into a comical reality... those like me don't forget where they come from and if they fall then they get back up and acknowledge the mistake, paying what they have to pay, waiting for the time to enjoy it, and so I pay and remain in sight, resonating feelings to the ear, I look at the guy in the mirror, and a man who doesn't grow up or a child born old comes out. You were my ultimate mistake, the brake of my motion, the negative of my photo, the water on my fire, a purposeless game, my empty glass, a sweet full of poison, a rainbow without color and what was love gives way to a clearly superior resentment. It's not a problem, it's that I have the blood of a commoner, you have the master gene in every chromosome. Used to the Sibuana, aspiring worldly lady, my story was born far from your nirvana with the watermark and it's not thanks to my last name that I have glory and fame. With street singers and your trendy shoes, your social center and the Prada parade. Anyway, eternally inside a private club that represents hell for those like me, you know... those like me pay if they make mistakes those like you run away after every mistake they don't earn anything, they only buy those like you eat the last slice, they want what's due to those like me

My people care about bread, not so much glory, now it excludes because it has been excluded, by those like you who now invade our story, spoiled like the air in a closed room. We don't care about an audience and Italy, the teenage intellectual and his arrogance, we want victory. Because for us it was time for imprecise family balances, crises, killed dreams when we watched you mock us with your smiles, narcissistic trends, worn-out clothes, I still see you as then, all precise and determined to enjoy the boom of your easy days. Chick, there's no way out, I run uphill on this road where you're on a trip, pretending to play a game, but it's real life. And here I beat you at your own game and you're punished: you're a pop singer who acts serious and is recycled, a bourgeois lady who volunteers out of boredom, go back to being an Anglo-teenager, all oasis and blur, enjoy your gold car, be a star with dark glasses and a scarf, I'm light-years away from you, I'm the funky+tarro, eternal outsider, if all this ends tomorrow, I'll dance alone like Liv Tyler, for now I hang out with stylish chicks like Michelle Pfeiffer or Winona Rider, Funky McGyver. I fix the device using my wit and give the right balance to this groove and I'm the funky easy rider. And if I rewind the tape and watch our movie, I look like Giannini with Mariangela Melato, a bitch remains a bitch even with a pedigree, I leave those like you to be bought on the market of my used goods.

those like me pay if they make mistakes those like you run away after every mistake

I believe in a scale of ordered ideals, I believe that pure ignorance is worth more than filtered culture, I believe you should stick with your own kind and not to your unsolvable but reducible to simple whims of children problems, I believe the road for you is beyond impassable borders. You're just an accessory in a band's dressing room, the hit parade of your ex-boyfriends list, you bring alternative musicians you're friends with to the lake on the weekend and magically even Che Guevara becomes a trend... well...disdain, sad sound, you act like a musicologist with Duran Duran as background, running towards nowhere like on a treadmill and trade one for two but it's not a detergent ad, and you form relationships of cellophane only with those whose huge ego matches yours. You crave my stuff, but you don't have the schooling, the street isn't learned by hosting strays in bed, mommy left you a seat in the mass media talk show, a conceited actress with a middle school diploma, popular among fakes because birds of a feather flock together, a character from a tragicomedy for those who resemble me...like Dj Enzo chick, you know

those like me pay if they make mistakes those like you run away after every mistake