C'è solo la strada

[spoken] Maria, I love you.
Maria, I need you.
Then I hold her tight and kiss her, wrapped up in love and clothes. And she moves too, happy with her looks and our love. And it goes on beautifully for days and days. A ship, with a clear course taking us straight to a home, a home just for the two of us. A lot of tenderness and a door that closes.

In homes, there’s nothing good
as soon as a door closes behind a man
something strange happens, there’s nothing to be done
it’s fatal, that man starts to rot.
Just a key that locks the front door
and you’re not the same as before
and you feel depressed.
That terrible key, as soon as it turns the key
we’re inside a room:
it’s eating, sleeping, drinking.

I’ve known a lot of families, family is cheaper and protects more. You get organized well, a soup for everyone, tranquilizers, aspirin for all, pads, cotton, Falqui candies. Just four hundred lira to purge the whole family. A deal. You shit, in family. You shit well, you do it all together.

In homes, there’s nothing good
as soon as a door closes behind a man
that man is heavy and goes out of style
he starts to rot, to stink really soon.
In homes, there’s nothing good
everything smells of stale and shit:
you take a bath, you brush your teeth
but we still stink.
Love, I’m leaving you, I’m leaving.

There’s only the road you can count on
the road is the only salvation
there’s only the desire and the need to go out
to expose ourselves in the street and in the square
because the final judgment
doesn’t pass through homes
the homes where we hide
we need to return to the road
to the road to know who we are.

There’s only the road you can count on
the road is the only salvation
there’s only the desire and the need to go out
to expose ourselves in the street, in the square
because the final judgment
doesn’t pass through homes
and angels don’t make appointments
and even in the biggest homes
there’s no space for checks and comparisons.

[spoken] Laura, I love you.
Laura, I need you.
With you, I find the road, the squares, the youth, the students. I left them a few years ago with a tie. They’ve changed a lot, they’re much more beautiful. The ideas, yes, the ideas have changed, and their talks and the way they dress. The beings less so. The beings haven’t changed much. They still go to school to nibble on a bit of medicine, slices of chemistry, bits of urban planning with ecology inserts, at roughly regular hours. And there’s still the café, between breaks. And then love, to create happiness. Like us now. A couple, and still many couples.
The only difference, a trip to India in a Deux Chevaux. Two, like us.

And then another door, another house
but we’re convinced it’s something else
Because we have different experiences
it can’t end badly
because we have a modern key
we have a Yale
because it’s all a different relationship
that’s much more advanced
but there’s always a house, with more aspirin and sedatives
and again I find myself rotting
in another family, ours, mine
hugging it while looking at the door
and my poetry.
Love, I’m leaving you, I’m going away.

There’s only the road you can count on
the road is the only salvation
there’s only the desire, the need to go out
to expose ourselves in the street, in the square
because the final judgment
doesn’t pass through homes
at home, you don’t hear the trumpets
at home, you distance yourself from life
from the struggle, from pain, from the bombs.

[spoken] Lidia, I love you.
Lidia, I need you... but please, in a furnished hotel.

Because the final judgment
doesn’t pass through homes
the homes where we hide
we need to return to the road
to the road to know who we are.

There’s only the road you can count on
the road is the only salvation
there’s only the desire, the need to go out
to expose ourselves in the street, in the square.
Because the final judgment
doesn’t pass through homes
at home, you don’t hear the trumpets
at home, you distance yourself from life
from the struggle, from pain, from the bombs.

...Because the final judgment
doesn’t pass through homes
at home, you don’t hear the trumpets
at home, you distance yourself from life
from the struggle, from pain, from the bombs.