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...and I've just passed
your face, while chocolate stains are being stuck on my lips,
trying to forget the previous night, it's hot, a hot early summer
night, 3.15 a.m., and I'm still on the streets, and the bloody
wind is scattering my body, while I'm desperately waiting for
the first night bus, here in London, 12th July 2001, alone but
not afraid of the dark, only scared about you and your impressing
voice inside my head, crumblin' and tumblin' like a furious hurricane
in a desert land, I've already got past Leicester Square, on
the way back to the college, I should have taken the last underground
train, but I got stuck in a heavy traffic called "confusion",
and then illusion, that pretty face, so singular and captivating,
like a Devil possessing a fragile, weak-minded body, she unwittingly
tried to waste my night and, perhaps, my journey...but who cares,
after all, I'm here, running to catch the bloody 147 to take
me home...finally... I do not feel fear of the city, I'm in love
with it and with the apparently menacing darkness, I'm safe and
the "street sound" is right... I'm listening to a rocking
guitar solo blistering my ears and leaving me torn but crazily
happy, I would jump on and on over the rainy roads, harmoniously
accompanied by an elastic and sensual opening bass riff that
reminds me glorious bands from the Seventies; time has stopped,
suddenly I become jealous of this rare moment of melancholic
loneliness, I start dreaming of that young lady met before, "I
don't know you but I love you", I would be ready to scream...
let her hear my mad words of love, I'll be your man on the corner,
'till the bus comes and takes me away, while the music still
is on the air, colouring the obscurity of expressive emotions
and gentle comedy, here is my theatre and my stage, and you'll
be my partner, dancing under the warm rain, and slipping from
side to side of these desolate streets... Moon is watching us,
while I fall into your eyes and taste the glamour of your tears,
my funny companion. The day won't exist, and the show will never
end... like two great, wonderfully decadent actors prisoners
of their play and tragic love-drama. ...3:45 a.m., and I'm still dancing in the moonlight... Questo testo è depositato presso www.neteditor.it e quindi coperto da diritti d'autore. Esso non potrà essere riprodotto totalmente o parzialmente senza il consenso dell'autore stesso, il quale, peraltro, ha autorizzato la pubblicazione su NuovoGPR, in data indicata in testa ed a mezzo e-mail. |