Venezia

Venice that is dying, Venice leaning on the sea,
The sweet obsession of its last sad days, Venice, selling itself to tourists,
Looking for Europe or the East among the people,
Watching the smoke - or the anger - rise in the evening from Porto Marghera...

Stefania was beautiful, Stefania never felt bad,
She died in childbirth screaming in a sweaty bed in a big hospital;
She was twenty years old, a husband, and a ring on her finger:
Relatives told me confusedly that her breath almost stumbled over her teeth...

Venice is a hotel, San Marco is undoubtedly also the name of a pizzeria,
The gondola costs, the gondola is just a nice carousel ride.
In the summer, Stefania played with me on empty lazy Sundays.
My mother talked, her mother sold Venice in a shop.

Venice is also a dream, one that you can buy,
But you can't wake up with water in your throat and a pain at sea level:
The Doge has changed homes and through a thousand windows
There's only the cry of a newborn baby, there's only the siren of Mestre...

Stefania sinking, Stefania left something behind:
A newspaper from the year 2000 and a rose on her nightstand, Stefania left a child.
I don't know if it really hurt the relatives
To see her die murdered, die alone, in a big hospital...

Venice is a scam that fills your head only with doom:
You don't know a damn thing about the rest of the world,
Venice is the people who don't give a damn!
Stefania is a child, buying or selling Venice will be his destiny:
Maybe one day we'll be happy to be just distant relatives...