1. |
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And I’ll be wandering around, I’ll be wandering around
till I can find a good reason to surrender.
And I’ll be falling down, I’ll be falling down
till I can see a pair of wings to fly away with.
And the ladies of the past are shadows that will last
till another pill to cure me will appear in the night
by the shores of Barcelona
by the shores of Barcelona
by the shores of those eyes
catching me, fetching my soul
and whatever else is left.
And I’ll be hoping once again, I’ll be hoping once again
till I can find another face where to get lost.
And I’ll keep getting lost, I’ll keep getting lost
till I can find another crack in a lonesome soul.
And the lovers of the past, they’re a smile that will hurt
till another smile will finally catch me up
by the shores of Barcelona
by the shores of Barcelona
by the breaks of my daytime dreams
by the shores of Barcelona, you can keep playing
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2. |
The Last Pacifist
05:28
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Where the river comes, wires are bent over thoughts
and words will fall behind the certainties we've lost
Roads are behind, we run away from dirty fears
and leaves still fall, a city becomes speechless soil
And rain is down, to fill up the streets with its sound,
the silence's come, darkness into a panic place,
the chain of life has been hurted another time,
but I still believe, I still want to believe at least
in a better world, where peace will be the only word,
and love will be the only reason to live for.
The sky is there, the lights are down, it's all just pain
and we're alone, with our fears and nothing more
Some people say this is what we should adapt
but I will say no, I will join another choir
And rain is down to wash away the tears around,
and we're between hidden faces and black ideas,
the dream is gone, so it's time to bring it back
and I'll still believe, I still need to believe
in a better world, where we can hug each other and sing
that love will be the only reason to live for.
So I won't be the last pacifist,
I won't be the last pacifist
I won't be the last pacifist at all.
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3. |
Wartime Soundtrack
04:58
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This is a wartime soundtrack
straight from this modern age
where everyone is enslaving himself again.
This is a wartime soundtrack
straight from the rebel firm
where every brand means fire to me
This is a wartime soundtrack
straight from the age of media
where you can die on TV: nobody would really care
This is a wartime soundtrack
struck by careful claims
where everyone is believing every truth.
This is a wartime soundtrack
straight from the darkest rooms
where they're hammering another nail
This is a wartime soundtrack
straight from the coldest town
where nobody will ever listen to you,
where nobody will offer you an applause.
The rope is unraveling, let’s sing Feng Shui.
We need another howl.
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4. |
Hopeless Pilgrim
07:19
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Hopeless pilgrim, stuck on his room, a fan offering some relief
from the sultry sun of Spanish souls.
Hopeless pilgrim on his road, all he has is memories,
on the sandy shore of simple streams.
Hopeless pilgrim, stormy life, haphazard straight from inside,
noone sharing his destiny.
Hopeless pilgrim, storming out, but it’s simply in his head
laconic ladies won’t bring him hope.
Burdens and honours, burdens and honours,
we are surviving this atmosphere,
burdens and honours, stations of hope,
we are surviving political fears
burdens and honours, my land of heath
my bottle filled with remarkable tears.
burdens and honours, your nails, my hills
my glass is filled with incredible smears.
[L'importante è viaggiare, non conta dove andare,
basta prendere un treno e lasciarsi trasportare
dal vento, dall'aria, dalla pioggia d'estate
da qualsiasi cosa tra le cose sbagliate.]
It was a night, a night people go get out, looking for easy happiness,
cheap flies flying through the blue, killing off the weather.
This orange rain shapes the shirts, he's breathing off his soul,
his jacket complaining of lack of love.
Loneliness is the rule when you can't stop
when you keep going, hitting the road.
What it's worth, it's to travel, to just float around,
doesn't matter where to go, where to run: you can just follow your path.
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5. |
Fussi pi mmia
03:26
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Fussi pi mmia, m'issi a ammucciari,
d'arrera li mura ca possu truvari
taliannu li machini ca currunu fuoddi
niscennu di sira, lu jornu è p'i morti
Fussi pi mmia, ittassi a vuciari,
abbanniannu pâ strada, cu m'hav a firmari?!?
addumannu li luci ca vulissi accattari
astutannu li cosi ca nun possu accittari
Fussi pi mmia, pigghiassi stu friddu
e lu jiccassi fora di li cosi ca tegnu
p'i cristiani curcati, cunzati p'i feste
ch'aspittanu 'u capu, 'u capu di nenti.
Fussi pi mmia, rispirassi lu mari
ch'u ciavuru bonu e fitusu ca tieni
picchì m'arrircorda la mè isula bedda
e china di cosi ca nun sacciu canciari.
Fussi pi mmia, incuntrassi la genti
ca veni dû mari pi sarvarsi la vita
frati d'un munnu chinu d'ingiustizie
megghiu sicuru di sti curna tisi
ca parlanu bonu, cunzati puliti
e vonnu insignari com’hamu a pinzari
paroli chini di odio e lurdìa
razzisti ammucciati ca nun vogghiu cu mmia
E si fussi pi mmia, canciassi tutti cosi
e m’arricugghissi arrera ntâ casa
cu tutti i picciotti ca si n’appanu a jiri
sciarriannuni cu li gran vecchi di testa
ca chiantaru radici e nuddu li scuddra
appattaru ‘a sittanta pi tutti l’amici
astutannu la testa, astutannu i duluri
e pi comu sunnu, un s’addunanu di nenti
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6. |
When a Country Dies
04:06
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When a country dies, nobody listens to you anymore
When a country dies, everything suddenly becomes stoned
When this country dies, I am here alone with no-one to blame
When a country dies, my radio is shocked like in a storm
When a country dies...
But my country dies, oh my country dies
my beloved birthplace is getting old
and it's going to die, yes it's going to die
I am on this borderline, I am ready for exile
When a country dies, my little darling cries more and more
When a country dies, my only thoughts are dust in the air
When this country dies, a grievous pain grows into my brain
Yes my country dies, but I don't really know where I could disappear!
But my country dies, oh my country dies
killed by ignorance and circumstances
and my country dies with a terrific harm
I think it's better to move away
and my country dies, my country dies
my empty hands are all my crimes
my little eyes are crying hard
my eyes are crying hard as my country dies
(My eyes are crying as my country dies, and my country dies...)
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7. |
She's Gone
04:14
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I look up at a Leonard Cohen book
I look up at a troubadour playing out
I look up, his guitar has two holes
But all I know, all I know is
She’s gone, she’s gone now
She’s gone, she’s gone now
She’s gone where my sobs are a noise
She’s gone, she’s gone now
And I’m out, stuck in between states of mind
I’m out, down into yet another night
I’m out, my pen crying ink from destiny
But all I know, all I know is
She’s gone, she’s gone now,
She’s gone, she’s gone now
She’s gone where the echo of hers hurts
She’s gone, she’s lost into my tracks
She’s gone, she’s gone now,
She’s gone, she’s gone now
She’s gone, she’s gone now…
She’s gone, I’ll never get her back
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8. |
Pinzeri nìvuri
05:17
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Sugnu circunnatu ri bicicletti,
cristiani cummattusi e siddiati,
sempre c'u tilefunu tra li mani
a cuntarisi minchiati in remoto.
Fimmini cu jeans spirtusati,
parono nisciute di prigione,
tutti fatti cu lu stampinu,
tutti biunni e lastimusi.
Dintra lu film ri la tò vita,
pari ca u suli s’appa a curcà,
dintra nu munnu di apparenze,
cerchi ri nesciri di sta sucità.
Ma dunni am'a jiri accussì,
dunni vulemu jiri accussì,
quannu la vita ca sugnasti
pari fu na vita fa.
E caminannu sempri qua,
pi li canali e li strati
allento li pinzeri niuri
pi circarini di nòvi.
E a scutuliari pruvulazzu,
mi scurdavi d'i cosi seri,
ma è accussì, suli d'invernu,
n'arresta sulu d'ammucciarni.
Cuntanu sulu picciuli e forme,
l’anima si la vinneru, si sa,
a lu mircatu dî cosi antichi,
c’appizzavi la vita, mi pozzu arraggià.
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9. |
Chain-Smoking Lady
03:51
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Where is your cigarette, where is your cigarette?
I know you need something in your hands.
Where is your cigarette, where is your cigarette?
I know it's a eventful life, a crazy ride.
And you're asking for a coffee,
and you're asking for a beer
and you keep your bike so close
as you do with all the things you care.
So let's dance to another tune, dear chain-smoking lady,
let´s dance to another song,
dear chain-smoking lady, dear ruler of your dreams.
Where is your cigarette, where is your cigarette?
It smells like whiskey, it sounds like a good time.
Where is your cigarette, where is your cigarette?
Why don't you bring it forward, ready for another scene?And you're asking for a coffee,
and you're asking for a beer
and you keep your words around so anyone can hear.
So let's read to another book, dear chain-smoking lady,
let's dance to another tune,
let's share our nightly talks,
let's dance to another tune,
dear chain-smoking lady.
Let's keep our fingers crossed
because the things we keep untold
are the best and greatest truths
because the words we keep untold after hours like that
are the ones we need to pronounce now.
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10. |
A List of Things
04:49
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Windowed train, under the rain,
slipping around with a sort of pain,
I don't have a word to define it all,
except the usual one: “Home”.
I was born in a place not far from the sea
where sailors came by exchanging ideas,
then I went away to search for the goal
of my life in this stupid world.
I found hypocrisy and lack of ideas
from people who cared only about themselves,
so I took a train and then once again,
as long as I couldn't find a smile.
But I'd like to find the smell of the sea
as I used to enjoy when I was a kid,
but every place fails with my own beliefs,
I think there's no town as it is
that I could call home (at least not for me),
because I am made of too many dreams,
the world as it is cannot fit for me:
I need a few more things, a flavour that I miss.
And the train is full, that is what I need,
all people around are going to somewhere,
they don't speak a lot and I can't understand,
I feel kind of alien when I search for my home.
Another bird sitting down on the streets,
a fresh drop of rain makes it fall asleep,
all the windows around hiding out anyone,
in a city with no secrets to share.
And I am here with pain into my brown shoes,
leaving out from a wet sandy dune,
and I write a new poem made of words
out of nothing, I know I'm already lost.
Wooden chairs, fear of moving again,
and the sky is smoking a cigarette,
managing to get angry all at once,
wintertime is approaching a new day.
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Angelo Romano Palermo, Italy
Born 1982 in Sicily, Angelo Romano is a singer-songwriter with a totally personal approach to music and arts. His life is kind of a weird storybook, with several cities all around where he spent some time and lived his life: from Pisa to Florence, from Ottawa to Amsterdam, from Groningen to Berlin, Utrecht, Barcelona and then Palermo, where he is currently based. ... more
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