Me fece mele a chepa

Hot. It's hot!
It's very hot in this car at this time of night
with heavy eyelids and broken bones
if only I could open the window a bit more
but Gianluca is sleeping and it doesn't seem nice

anyway, a timid breath of sea air arrives
like a smell of rocks, moss, and salt
and this is Leuca calling you from the rearview mirror
we left not long ago and it already feels like hours.

Because driving has always been a pleasure for me
so I decide on my own where to stop
but here it seems to me that stopping is like dying
and even if Otranto is watching me, I don't want to hear it

so I continue on this journey in this endless Puglia
and inevitably start thinking about life
I don't have the strength to suffocate my thoughts
who knows if speeding up makes them a little lighter.

And instead, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing to do
there's something inside that pushes and hurts
and instead, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing to do
there's something inside that pushes and makes me scream

Made me mad as hell
Made me mad as hell
Made me mad as hell
Made me mad as hell

Sleep! I'm sleepy!

I'm too sleepy to fight windmills
I drive without understanding anymore and not slowing down for this
I can barely distinguish the road from the rocks
and maybe I read something that talked about Lecce.

And after Brindisi, Ostuni, Monopoli fly away
risky balancing between sand and fantasy
I would like to reach out my hand
and, waving goodbye, let my anguish slide away slowly.

Clear, clear, clear I must remain
and not let myself be stunned by this sea
long, slow, and cunning that guides me
no longer listen to these screams

And instead, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing to do
there's something inside that pushes and hurts
and instead, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing to do
there's something inside that pushes and makes me scream

Made me mad as hell
Made me mad as hell
Made me mad as hell
Made me mad as hell