Incendio

Sittin' at a table
with a broken, disjointed leg,
today I stop to take stock
of a past life.

There's a torn folder, old photos,
dirty pages, written with sweat,
sweat that burns and wets.
I'm the rat in your house,
I'm the time that rots you,
I'm the whore on the corner,
I'm ashes in the fire,
Bullshit!, what a nonsense.

So much false wandering,
I can't enjoy anymore,
I can't live without fear,
now it's my turn to dream.

Humming from the street,
a protest,
people in struggle, people with ideals,
maybe they're right or not.

What anxiety, what irony,
what apathy, what disillusionment,
what weariness, what boredom.

And maybe life will pass by
without stopping on a good bench
in any square
to smoke a cigarette.

And I'm losing my mind,
my fist already rusted
from hitting it so much,
punching the roof.

And I wish I were drunk,
and I wish I dreamed less,
I wish for a minute
where I don't miss you.

And I wish for another guitar,
and I wish for another head,
I wish to be happy
and I wish for sadness.

I have a blank sheet
in front of me saying:
"Come here, bastard,
why are you trembling in fear?"

Let go of that agony
and sing to me in your lament,
save me if you can
from this vile inferno.

What anxiety, what irony,
what apathy, what disillusionment,
what weariness, what boredom.

And maybe life will pass by
without stopping on a good bench
in any square
to smoke a cigarette.

And I'm losing my mind,
my fist already rusted
from hitting it so much,
punching the roof.

And I wish I were drunk,
and I wish I dreamed less,
I wish for a minute
where I don't miss you.

And I wish for another guitar,
and I wish for another head,
I wish to be happy
and I wish for sadness.