Go away, I won't remember, obviously I wasn't a saint,
they obviously taught me wrong, they obviously didn't beat my dad and mom enough.
Don't think about I'm not feeling well, it seems we're not talking about the same thing.
I'm leaving the field, the meadow, close to the larks.
The road, the path, where I don't live, I'm leaving.
I'm going away alone in everything.
Write to my mother, where we will meet along the way.

INVIA LE CORREZIONI