Paradise - Especialistas de Musica para Dormir, Massage Music, Lullaby Babies

Son morti e dai vermi ricoperti

Son morti e dai vermi ricoperti

Son morti e dai vermi ricoperti

It’s paradise

Son morti i furbi e gli stronzi

Son morti i buoni ed i colti

Son morti ormai tutti quanti

It’s paradise

C’era un bambino al camposanto

Che chiede ai genitori, stanco

Dov'è che li hanno seppelliti quelli cattivi

Leggendo tutti gli epitaffi

Sembravan tutti dei santi

Ma lui, al mondo da poco, aveva capito tutto

Che son morti i furbi e gli stronzi

Che son morti i buoni ed i colti

Che son morti ormai tutti quanti

It’s paradise

Son morti e dai vermi ricoperti

Son morti e dai vermi ricoperti

Son morti e dai vermi ricoperti

It’s paradise

Il bambino, tornando da scuola

Si chiede com'è che funziona

Questa morte, che hanno paura tutti i grandi

A farne le conseguenze

Della scoperta eccitante

Sarà un grillo che canta

Ora non canta più

Son morte le bestie e le piante

Son morte le bestie e le piante

Son morte ormai tutte quante

It’s paradise

Son morte e da macchine schiacciate

Son morte e dagli uomini mangiate

Son morte, dal freddo ricoperte

It’s paradise

They are dead and covered with worms

They are dead and covered with worms

They are dead and covered with worms

It's paradise

The crafty ones and the assholes are dead

The good and the educated are dead

They are all dead now

It's paradise

There was a child in the cemetery

Asking parents, tired

Where did the bad ones buried them?

Reading all the epitaphs

They all looked like saints

But he, in the world recently, had understood everything

That the crafty ones and the assholes are dead

That the good and the educated are dead

Who are all dead now

It's paradise

They are dead and covered with worms

They are dead and covered with worms

They are dead and covered with worms

It's paradise

The child returning from school

He wonders how it works

This death, which all the great are afraid of

To make the consequences

Of the exciting discovery

It will be a cricket that sings

Now he doesn't sing anymore

The beasts and the plants are dead

The beasts and the plants are dead

They are all dead now

It's paradise

They are dead and crushed by machines

They are dead and eaten by men

They are dead, covered with cold

It's paradise