Paolo Conte
Miscellaneous
You with your beautiful bitter smile
in the foreground, but what is it?
loads you like a donkey
with gold and emeralds, a hookah
it wasn't America, who knows
it wasn't Africa, who knows
the old way of the variety show...
You went with your incomparable pace
slow and incomprehensible
like the vote of the airship
above the impressionable crowd...
it wasn't America, who knows
it wasn't Africa, who knows
the old way of the variety show ¦
I didn't understand anything
I looked at people
and their faces
and I expected everything
good and bad
in the heat what does he do...
There was everything in that smile
but in that room almost nothing,
the air of an old paradise
in an overwhelming silence...
It wasn't America, who knows
It wasn't Africa, who knows
The old way of the variety show...
And the days gone by are gone
In the brute taste of the drum
br/>in the charm of certain stars
shot against the dark sky
it wasn't America, who knows
it wasn't Africa, who knows
the old way of variety...
I didn't understand a thing
I looked at the sink
and the face he was making,
and meanwhile I consoled myself,
I drank and smoked
for an eternity... ¦
But it was still my job,
companion of a star
oasis of caravaners
it's like having and not having...
it wasn't America, who knows
It wasn't Africa, who knows
The old street of the variety show...

INVIA LE CORREZIONI