Le poesie di Enrico - Nomadi

Ma cosa parlate, se non sapete

Non gli serve l’aiuto di nessuno

Quando il vento mostra il suo vero volto

Lui parla alle foglie, amiche rumorose

E per un sorriso ti regala una poesia

Un pezzo di vita e poi scappa via

Ma cosa parlate, se non sapete

Non gli serve l’aiuto di nessuno

Lui scrive di notte mentre la gente dorme

Nelle sue tasche solo fogli di carta

Ricordi di vita e di follie vissute

Storie di amori e di stelle perdute

Ma come son belle le poesie di Enrico

Che parlan di mare e di polene vive

Di scogli bianchi e di acque profonde

Di piccole barche contro grandi onde

Ma come son belle le poesie di Enrico

Che parlan di lui e della sua vita

Ma cosa parlate, se non sapete

Non gli serve l’aiuto di nessuno

Quando il vento mostra il suo vero volto

All’angolo della strada tende la sua mano

E per un soldo ti regala una poesia

Un pezzo di carta e poi scappa via

Ma come son belle le poesie di Enrico

Che parlan di mare e di polene vive

Di scogli bianchi e di acque profonde

Di piccole barche contro grandi onde

Ma come son belle le poesie di Enrico

Che parlan di lui e della sua vita

But what are you talking about, if you don't know

He doesn't need anyone's help

When the wind shows its true face

He talks to the leaves, noisy friends

And for a smile he gives you a poem

A piece of life and then it runs away

But what are you talking about, if you don't know

He doesn't need anyone's help

He writes at night while people sleep

In his pockets only sheets of paper

Memories of life and of lived madness

Stories of loves and lost stars

But how beautiful are Enrico's poems

That speak of the sea and of live figureheads

Of white rocks and deep waters

Of small boats against big waves

But how beautiful are Enrico's poems

That speak of him and his life

But what are you talking about, if you don't know

He doesn't need anyone's help

When the wind shows its true face

At the corner of the street he holds out his hand

And for a penny he gives you a poem

A piece of paper and then run away

But how beautiful are Enrico's poems

That speak of the sea and of live figureheads

Of white rocks and deep waters

Of small boats against big waves

But how beautiful are Enrico's poems

That speak of him and his life