Un Sabato Italiano

The stinky courtyard starts meowing
The mood is typical of a winter Saturday
The radio stabs me with the flower festival
An angel at the intercom tells me to come out

Luckily, everyone is still alive down the street
The horoscope predicts decisive developments
We drive cheerfully, it's almost witching hour
There's a fantastic atmosphere, the stars are shining

And it seems like any Saturday, an Italian Saturday
The worst seems to be over
The night is a dirigible that takes us far away

So we venture into Fellini's Rome
Balancing on the tightrope of the weekend
And on the usual images in conversations and thoughts
Yesterday's music floods in anachronistically

Latent melancholy in the happiest moments
Unfathomable abysses, friends' women
And this unpredictable story of love and dynamite
Makes even my gastritis bearable

And on this ordinary Saturday, an Italian Saturday
The worst seems to be over
The night is a dirigible that takes us far away

And now we sail into a planetary dream
The whiskey comes back up, I become literary
But why don't you go to the doctor
And what's the point
I don't want to stop drinking and smoking

And on this ordinary Saturday, an Italian Saturday
The worst seems to be over
The night is a dirigible that takes us far away

And on this ordinary Saturday, an Italian Saturday
The worst seems to be over
The night is the variable that takes us away hand in hand

And this ordinary Saturday, an Italian Saturday
The worst seems to be over...