Guccini Francesco
Miscellaneous
Signora Bovary
Signora Bovary (Francesco Guccini)
But what is there at the end of today
half a celebration and almost evil,
of couples who pass by frayed
like gauze stretched against the dry autumn sky,
of people who shatter in a breath
without suffering, without understanding
between fall asleep and die.
but what lies at the end of this night,
when the hour of the wolf yelps
and the new day never comes
and the darkness it's a distant whistle that never ends;
of minutes as long as sweat
of hours that cut like scythes
and your thoughts just a dog in church
that everyone kicks .
But what is there, what is there...
Tiled atriums of secondary stations,
Streets more streets of solitary adventures,
Clowns of the night ,
Empty suitcases,
Full of tricks for imaginary tragedies...
Remote controls for the daily hells,
Wit jokes from postmodern architects,
Lovers gone,
/>pleasures in installments,
abacuses to count summers and winters.
But what's right at the bottom,
when for better or worse we'll do the math,
and the days we will drip like taps in the dark
and we will say...un moment...wait... to never
be ready;
Mrs. Bovary, courage too,
among the murderers and adventurers...
at the bottom of this today there is still night,
at the end of the night there is still, there is still...