Canzone Di Notte N.2 - Francesco Guccini

E un’altra volta e' notte e suono

Non so nemmeno io per che motivo, forse perche' son vivo

E voglio in questo modo dire «Sono»

O forse perche' e' un modo pure questo

Per non andare a letto

O forse perche' ancora c’e' da bere

E mi riempio il bicchiere

E l’eco si e' smorzato appena

delle risate fatte con gli amici, dei brindisi felici

In cui ciascuno chiude la sua pena

In cui ciascuno non e' come adesso da solo con se' stesso

A dir «Dove ho mancato e dove e' stato»

A dir «Dove ho sbagliato»

Eppure fa piacere a sera

Andarsene per strade ed osterie, vino e malinconie

E due canzoni fatte alla leggera

In cui gridando celi il desiderio

Che sian presi sul serio

Il fatto che sei triste o che t’annoi

E tutti i dubbi tuoi

Ma i moralisti han chiuso i bar

E le morali han chiuso i vostri cuori

E spento i vostri ardori

e' bello, ritornar normalita'

e' facile tornare con le tante

Stanche pecore bianche.

Scusate, non mi lego a questa schiera:

Morro' pecora nera.

Saranno cose gia' sentite

O scritte sopra un metro un po' stantio,

Ma intanto questo e' mio

E poi, voi queste cose non le dite

Poi certo per chi non e' abituato

Pensare e' sconsigliato

Poi e' bene essere un poco diffidente

Per chi e' un po' differente

Ma adesso avete voi il potere

Adesso avete voi supremazia, diritto e Polizia

Gli dei, i comandamenti ed il dovere

Purtroppo non so come siete in tanti

E molti qui davanti

Ignorano quel tarlo mai sincero

Che chiamano «Pensiero»

Pero' non siate preoccupati

Noi siamo gente che finisce male: galera od ospedale

Gli anarchici li han sempre bastonati

E il libertario e' sempre controllato

Dal clero, dallo stato

Non scampa, fra chi veste da parata

Chi veste una risata

O forse non e' qui il problema,

E ognuno vive dentro ai suoi egoismi

Vestiti di sofismi

E ognuno costruisce il suo sistema

Di piccoli rancori irrazionali,

Di cosmi personali

Scordando che poi infine tutti avremo

Due metri di terreno

E un’altra volta e' notte e suono

Non so nemmeno io per che motivo

Forse perche' son vivo

O forse per sentirmi meno solo

O forse perche' e' notte e vivo strani

Fantasmi e sogni vani

Che danno quell’ipocondria ben nota

Poi… la bottiglia e' vuota

And once again it's night and sound

I don't even know why, maybe because I'm alive

And I want to say "I am" in this way

Or maybe because that's one way too

Not to go to bed

Or maybe because there is still something to drink

And I fill my glass

And the echo just faded away

laughs with friends, happy toasts

In which each ends his sentence

In which everyone is not alone with himself as he is now

To say "Where have I missed and where has it been"

To say "Where did I go wrong"

Yet it is nice in the evening

Going out into the streets and taverns, wine and melancholy

And two songs made lightly

In which shouting you hide the desire

That they are taken seriously

The fact that you are sad or that you are bored

And all your doubts

But the moralists have closed the bars

And morals have closed your hearts

And your ardors are extinguished

it's nice to return to normal

it is easy to return with the many

Tired white sheep.

Sorry, I don't stick to this host:

I will die black sheep.

They will be things already heard

Or written a little stale above a meter,

But in the meantime, this is mine

Besides, you don't say these things

Then of course for those who are not used to it

Thinking is not recommended

Then it's good to be a little wary

For those who are a little different

But now you have the power

Now you have supremacy, law and police

The gods, the commandments and duty

Unfortunately I don't know how many of you are

And many here in front

They ignore that ever sincere worm

Which they call "Thought"

But don't be worried

We are people who end badly: jail or hospital

Anarchists have always beaten them

And the libertarian is always controlled

From the clergy, from the state

He does not escape, among those who wear a parade

Who dresses a laugh

Or maybe that's not the problem,

And everyone lives within his own selfishness

Dressed in sophisms

And each builds his own system

Of small irrational grudges,

Of personal cosmoses

Forgetting that eventually we will all have

Two meters of land

And once again it's night and sound

I don't even know why

Maybe because I'm alive

Or maybe to feel less alone

Or maybe because it's night and I live weird

Ghosts and empty dreams

Which give that well-known hypochondria

Then ... the bottle is empty