Eri Bella

Your house was strange, towering like a skyscraper against the sky,
it stood behind a gray wall and a giant tree,
reaching up to the second floor, all pink in spring,
like the fingers of a hand. And the ribbon of the road,
white and quiet in the moonlight, glowed with phosphor and honey,
it lit up in the evening for our meet-ups down at the Fairgrounds,
and we’d stay there talking by your gates,
and sometimes the headlights of cars would shine on your hair.
You were beautiful, you were beautiful, more beautiful,
you were beautiful, you were beautiful, beautiful…

I remember your dad, poor guy, always hunched over the books
in that little shop of his, always ready to take advantage
of someone’s mistakes, always ready to never look anyone in the eye.
And if I think a bit about you, so sensitive and loyal,
born among those people, it still hurts me.
You were beautiful, you were beautiful, more beautiful,
you were beautiful, you were beautiful, beautiful…

You see, it wasn’t a war or a disaster that split us apart,
but a city school, you know there’s no explanation,
and maybe there never will be.
When the wind blows hard, everything passes and goes.
But if I think a little about you, so sensitive and loyal,
in this dirty world, it still hurts me.
You were beautiful, you were beautiful, more beautiful,
you were beautiful, you were beautiful, beautiful…