La Musica Muore - Franco Battiato, Juri Camisasca

Sono anni che non cambia niente

Tutto è chiuso in un sacco a pelo

Con un dito quante macchine ho fermato

Quanti stop alle frontiere ho sopportato

Degli Stones amavo Satisfaction

E dei Doors come on baby light my fire

Ascoltavo Penny Lane per ore ed ore

Mi ritorna l’eco dei concerti

Mi ritorna l’acqua dentro il sacco a pelo

Tutt’intorno i fuochi ormai si sono spenti

Non resta che un pallido colore

La musica muore

Parco Lambro, Woodstock, l’Isola di White

Quanta gente strana ho incontrato per strada

Giravo per l’Europa da Londra ad Amsterdam

On the road again, my generation

Nothing has changed for years

Everything is packed in a sleeping bag

With one finger how many cars have I stopped

How many stops at the borders have I endured

I loved Satisfaction of the Stones

And of the Doors come on baby light my fire

I listened to Penny Lane for hours and hours

The echo of the concerts returns to me

The water returns to me in the sleeping bag

All around the fires have now gone out

All that remains is a pale color

Music dies

Lambro Park, Woodstock, the Isle of White

How many strange people I met on the street

I was touring Europe from London to Amsterdam

On the road again, my generation