Paolo Conte
Miscellaneous
Non Sense
What a satisfaction
This minestrone,
The whole neighborhood will know... will know...
How do I live? I don't know either...
But if they tell me... I know...
That it won't be sent on purpose by the army
A wicked soup like a habit,
Stuff of lust and loneliness...
But excuse me, tell me, do I speak Arabic?
If you don't want to understand me, say it immediately,
That in a torpid sleep
I I would like to hide,
Stuff of soot and sheep's paper,,,
Non sense, think about it...
High fashion is lovable,
Sometimes affable,
We went, that I think of selling,
Stuff for cannibals, however:
We sway fanatical mannequins,
We sway, they lean out and then they skid,
As usual and bliss,
Perhaps outside the edge, flanking an embankment...
I can no longer, I can no longer bask in it,
Put down the cutlery, now reach out
A single question like a chasm,< br/>Stuff from the Philippines and perhaps dialectics...
Nonsense, think about it...

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