Quelli Che Benpensano

They are around us, among us
in many cases we are the ones making promises
without ever keeping them except for calculation
the end is only the useful, the means every possible
the stakes are high, the imperative is to win
and not let anyone else participate
in the logic of the game the only rule is to be cunning
no scruples or respect towards one's peers
because the last will be the last if the first are unattainable
There are many, arrogant with the weakest, doormats with the powerful
they are replicants, they are all identical, look at them
they hide behind masks and you can't distinguish them
Like lizards they climb, and if they lose their tail they buy it back
They do what they want everyone knows about it
they spend, they spread and they are what they have

They are around me, but they don't talk to me
They are like me, but they feel better
x2

And like suppositories they live in full-optional blisters
with dogs over 120 decibels and dwarfs as if it were Disneyland
they live in fear of appearing poor
they flaunt what they have, envy everything else
then they buy it, in constant escalation with the neighbor they build
they start from the meadow and go up to the sky
they have more parables on the roof than St. Mark in the Gospel
They are the ones who wash cars on Saturdays
who speed through the asphalt and children in the evening
average like the classes they belong to
down-to-earth like the missiles they resemble
Tightened, they snort
they get drunk and then knead on a tree - boom!
White noses like Fruit of the Loom
that become redder than a Doom level

They are around me, but they don't talk to me
They are like me, but they feel better

Each for themselves, God for themselves
hands that shake between the benches of churches on Sundays
hypocritical hands, hands that do things that are not told
otherwise the other hands who knows what they think, they are scandalized
Hands that then sign petitions for eviction
smooth hands like castor oil, hands that wield batons
that stuff jewelry, that rise behind their brothers
Those who can't turn around at night anymore
those who go to prostitutes while their children watch TV
who act like bosses, who buy Class
who are so sophisticated to call the police, plastic nightmares
who would like to set fire to every gypsy
but the only one they light is the one who gives them alms every night
when I hide on the dark side of their black moon

They are around me, but they don't talk to me
They are like me, but they feel better