Stardust, stardust from years ago, my memory from here turns its gaze towards the true shape of the city. August in the city, asphalt under the sun, absorbed in listening to you at the Villa Comunale. that hat from the '50s, you wore your story proudly even in the '80s
from the train station to the open market how many people I saw offering you their hand and with so much respect.
you could read it in my eyes and I already understood and you showed me what takes away from and gives away reality
you were living proof comrade that respect cannot be bought by holding a role in society
the entire railway was yours earth, you have seen it reborn under the blows of war
give some time for me to loosen up your meshes now, a day has never gone by without at least a kiss for your wife.
then the notice to sign, the municipal band, your passion for notes managed to save you from Russia, your whole family, the only one without scores, self-taught, I write the story that you have engraved inside my body when Frank Sinatra came down to the airport in Foggia
to you who didn't read the notes and played the sax, he gave high three and started the duet on the notes of Stardust!
I let this stardust give shape to the words on the music
and then head, hands, neck, legs, arms, feet, heart, go mo!
I let this stardust give shape to the words on the music
and then head, hands, neck, legs, arms, feet, heart, go now!
and every day more someone around and it's you
and every dream more something nearby and it's you
and every day more someone around and it's you
and every dream more something nearby and it's you
stardust, for me it's the taste of the feelings of the twenty of the thirty of the sounds and smells of other times< br/>it's the belt of a light coat, on the street in autumn I held it while I walked
it's the first sip of beer from your glass, at the blue tiled bar on the corner of your neighborhood
and It's a little secret that's a long way off, so you know that later at home I'll cover for you if your grandmother catches you
It's you, sitting on a stool with the sax, seven grandchildren around you playing jazz notes
And 'a long reed, it's a wood with a tip, it's your wife who cries when you play "Rosamunda" to her
it's the passion that sometimes flows from generation to generation only between a few people (stardust)
/>stuff only for those who know how to understand and I'm proud that you chose me among all of them
I am the vehicle of your notes since childhood, bearer of every symptom
and whether you hear me or not I hope I can make you proud of soul I have only learned everything I know
and my war is to bring my name out, one for you, one for both my parents
in the name of a fellow saxophonist ', which gave its name to a street poet from Giuann.

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