Il Bombarolo

Who goes around
Saying I hate my job
Doesn't know with how much love
I dedicate myself to dynamite
It's almost independent
Just a few more hours
Then I'll give it a voice
The detonator

My fragile Pinocchio
Craftsman relative
Of devices built
On an industrial scale
I will never become
A knight of labor
I am of another breed
I'm the bomber

Going down the stairs
I pay more attention
It would be unforgivable
To execute myself at the door
Just on the day
The decision is mine
On the death sentence
Or the amnesty

On the street many faces
Don't have a nice color
Here those who don't terrorize
Get sick with fear
There are those who wait for the rain
To not cry alone
I have a different opinion
I'm the bomber

Today's intellectuals
Tomorrow's idiots
Give me back the brain
That is enough for my hands
Very acrobatic prophets
Of the revolution
Today I will do it myself
Without a lesson

I will uncover the enemies
So distant for you
And after having killed them
I will be among the fugitives
But as long as I search for them
The fugitives are them
I have chosen another school
I'm the bomber

Power too many times
Delegated to other hands
Dropped and returned to us
By your airplanes
I come to give you back
Some of your terror
Your disorder
Your noise

This is what a desperate thirty-year-old
Thought strongly
If not entirely right
Almost nothing wrong
Looking for the suitable place
Fit for his dynamite
In short, the worthy place
Of a bomber

Some saw him laugh
In front of the parliament
Waiting for the explosion
To prove his talent
Some saw him cry
A stream of vowels
Seeing explode
A newsstand

But what deeply wounded him
In his pride
Was the image of her
Leaning out of every page
Far from the ridiculous
In which she left him alone
But on the front page
With the bomber