Morte Di Un Poeta
Modena City Ramblers
Death of a Poet
If I were to fall deep into Hell
into a river black as ink
rolling lost among the trash bags
in a bottomless pit,
If I were to disappear in the earth's twists
and never see the light of day again
but it’s always just the same old story and no one will get it
But leave me here in my piece of heaven drowning bad memories
on the streets of New York the poet is alone and no one will save him
In district 19 life moves fast
through the buildings and boulevards of Paris
immigrants dancing to gypsy rhythms
and downing the dark and the green
the toothless guy chased after foreign girls
with their light hair and dresses
but it’s always just the same old story and no one will get it
But leave me here in my piece of heaven drowning bad memories
on the streets of Paris the poet is alone and no one will save him
Old dirty Dublin for a son returning
you’re a mother waiting at sunset
with the stench of alcohol, with kisses and songs
for those who’ve been distant prisoners
there’s a bomb and a gun, an Englishman to take out
and a green army uniform
but it’s always just the same old story and no one will get it
But leave me here in my piece of heaven drowning bad memories
on the streets of Dublin the poet is alone and no one will save him
