| Musica I was so high I did not recognize The fire burning in her eyes The chaos that controlled my mind Whispered goodbye and she got on a plane Never to return again But always in my heart This love has taken its toll on me She said Goodbye too many times before And her heart is breaking in front of me I have no choice cause I won't say goodbye anymore I tried my best to feed her appetite Keep her coming every night So hard to keep her satisfied Kept playing love like it was just a game Pretending to feel the same Then turn around and leave again This love has taken its toll on me She said Goodbye too many times before And her heart is breaking in front of me I have no choice cause I won't say goodbye anymore I'll fix these broken things Repair your broken wings And make sure everything's alright My pressure on your hips Sinking my fingertips Into every inch of you Cause I know that's what you want me to do This love has taken its toll on me She said Goodbye too many times before And her heart is breaking in front of me I have no choice cause I won't say goodbye anymore This love has taken its toll on me She said Goodbye too many times before And my heart is breaking in front of me She said Goodbye too many times before This love has taken its toll on me She said Goodbye too many times before And her heart is breaking in front of me I have no choice cause I won't say goodbye anymore... (This love, Maroon five) |
Poesia Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all; What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call; All mine was thine before thou hadst this more. Then if for my love thou my love receivest, I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest; But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, Although thou steal thee all my poverty; And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury. Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes. (W. Shakespeare, sonetto 40) |
Me ne vengo a cercare un po' di solitudine, a incontrarla negli sguardi che incrocio.
Sguardi estranei, stranieri, vacui o umidi, sottili per resistere al sole che ci cuoce sulle scale di Trinità dei Monti e disegna ragnatele di luce sul fondo della Barcaccia. Vado o mi porto se preferite. Conosco la città sentendola dal suolo, la pianta dei piedi è modellata da sampietrini lisi... come me. Voglia di fumare ma indolenza di gesto; solo, in fondo alla gola, il gusto dolce e forte del tabacco alla vaniglia persiste come una cicatrice. Il passo mi porta ad acqua antica che scorre a lavare desideri pagati una moneta, supero la fontana di Trevi per entrare un nuovo Antro: la voglia di fumo mi porta da un mastro pipaio che snocciola pensieri di vita per nulla scontati. Non gli interessa leberarsi di un oggetto ma capire se son fatto per appressare la sua opera, mi racconta degli anni dopo le bombe e della sua famiglia ed io posso vedere volute di fumo narrate dare forma alle sue storie e intanto, fuori, il sole arrossa i passanti che sfilano chiassosi dopo aver affidato il cuore ad un soldo di rame. |