Alè De Mil-cent

Flee the silence from every street,
putrid fog, breath of a thousand.

Chorus:
Rev the engines, wheels screaming,
carving up the asphalt.
Feel the sea, the burnt air,
fumes of loneliness.

The women of the world go crazy,
when they hear the noise of the engines.

From those big bikes that tear through brains,
while racing, scaring kids and old folks.

Leather riders, prints of kings,
shiny boots and grease in their hair.

Chorus:

With unyielding eyes and bodies all tensed,
they're gambling their lives to be in front.

Chorus:

It's a thousand meters straight that they have to run full throttle,
then, if they don't brake, the fall is deadly.
Rocks are waiting for you, like sirens of the sea.
Who will be man enough to want to kiss them?