Think of me | |
when the sun will burn away | |
even the last of your dreams | |
think of me | |
when the moon will shine | |
on the last of your defeats | |
I remember in the shadow of poverty | |
the pride of a young boy | |
searching for the right ways | |
running among dust and cries | |
towards his way | |
the same one that now belongs to you | |
don‘t throw to the wind your story | |
Give it the time to be | |
Don‘t always turn back | |
Every time you do it | |
You loose an important part of you | |
follow the instinct | |
when it urges you | |
towards new stories | |
only give up when the game | |
threatens your hole existence | |
the roots you have inside | |
are a small part of history | |
i have lived, too | |
and those little smiles | |
a hundred years old | |
are now part of you | |
are now part of you | |
are now part of you | |
when the sky cries | |
soaking the undergrowth of society | |
real cradle of declared vices | |
making it the slimiest ever | |
men running away looking for cover | |
as if they were afraid | |
that it could melt | |
their faces all the same | |
of those too slow | |
only remain stripes of blood | |
which thinned by their own murderer | |
slowly disappear in black holes | |
of those too stupid | |
only remain the footprints | |
used as wedges under the doors | |
to let the speedy ones through |
Think of me | |
when the sun will burn away | |
even the last of your dreams | |
think of me | |
when the moon will shine | |
on the last of your defeats | |
I remember in the shadow of poverty | |
the pride of a young boy | |
searching for the right ways | |
running among dust and cries | |
towards his way | |
the same one that now belongs to you | |
don' t throw to the wind your story | |
Give it the time to be | |
Don' t always turn back | |
Every time you do it | |
You loose an important part of you | |
follow the instinct | |
when it urges you | |
towards new stories | |
only give up when the game | |
threatens your hole existence | |
the roots you have inside | |
are a small part of history | |
i have lived, too | |
and those little smiles | |
a hundred years old | |
are now part of you | |
are now part of you | |
are now part of you | |
when the sky cries | |
soaking the undergrowth of society | |
real cradle of declared vices | |
making it the slimiest ever | |
men running away looking for cover | |
as if they were afraid | |
that it could melt | |
their faces all the same | |
of those too slow | |
only remain stripes of blood | |
which thinned by their own murderer | |
slowly disappear in black holes | |
of those too stupid | |
only remain the footprints | |
used as wedges under the doors | |
to let the speedy ones through |
Think of me | |
when the sun will burn away | |
even the last of your dreams | |
think of me | |
when the moon will shine | |
on the last of your defeats | |
I remember in the shadow of poverty | |
the pride of a young boy | |
searching for the right ways | |
running among dust and cries | |
towards his way | |
the same one that now belongs to you | |
don' t throw to the wind your story | |
Give it the time to be | |
Don' t always turn back | |
Every time you do it | |
You loose an important part of you | |
follow the instinct | |
when it urges you | |
towards new stories | |
only give up when the game | |
threatens your hole existence | |
the roots you have inside | |
are a small part of history | |
i have lived, too | |
and those little smiles | |
a hundred years old | |
are now part of you | |
are now part of you | |
are now part of you | |
when the sky cries | |
soaking the undergrowth of society | |
real cradle of declared vices | |
making it the slimiest ever | |
men running away looking for cover | |
as if they were afraid | |
that it could melt | |
their faces all the same | |
of those too slow | |
only remain stripes of blood | |
which thinned by their own murderer | |
slowly disappear in black holes | |
of those too stupid | |
only remain the footprints | |
used as wedges under the doors | |
to let the speedy ones through |