Parabola - Roberto Vecchioni

Con la moglie dal quale ruppe subito

Ma non in tempo per evitare

Che gli nascesse un figlio naturale

Era vecchio, era saggio e non sbagliava

Mai e ben che fosse falsa moneta

Tacque con tutti e lo chiamò poeta

Da sua moglie ebbe poi un figlio vero

Uno che aveva sempre ragione

E per questo ragioniere fu il suo nome

Ragioniere cresceva molto algebrico

Poeta aveva lo sguardo assente

Parlava tanto ma non rendeva niente

Ragazza ragazza perché tu quella sera

Giravi da sola per tutta la brughiera?

Ragazza dovevi restare a casa muta

Adesso c'è chi piange d’averti conosciuta

E poeta le disse: «Margherita, qui c'è la luna

Che ci fa lume vieni a giocare

Inventeremo un fiume»

Come attore non era proprio l’ultimo

E le confuse tutte le idee

Facendo sfoggio di rose e di azalee

E poi corse dal padre subito a dirgli:

«Ho fatto un fiume di primavera

Oltre la valle, dentro la brughiera»

«Che scemenza è mai questa, figlio mio

No non c'è un fiume nella brughiera

Lo so per certo li ho fatti tutti io»

«Io, padre, ti sfido, se tu sei il creatore

Tu prova a levarlo quel fiume dal suo cuore

Io padre ti sfido, se sei l’imperatore

Tu prova a levarci quel fiume e questo amore»

Era vecchio era saggio e non sbagliava mai

Prese da parte il figlio accorto

Gli tolse il libro cassa e lo mandò nell’orto

Là, nell’orto, piangeva margherita

Soffriva tanto che lui la portò al mare

Il mare è facile, c'è poco da inventare

E fu il vecchio a benedir le nozze dicendo:

«Andate figli della terra

Voi siete giusti e non avete guerra»

Poi rivolto all’infame parolaio

Lo cacciò via coi gesto di una mano

La giara vuota non serve più a nessuno

«Per il mondo ch'è mio ti maledico

Avrai vent’anni tutta la vita

Ma non potrai chiamare margherita»

With his wife with whom he immediately broke up

But not in time to avoid

That a natural child be born to him

He was old, he was wise and he wasn't wrong

Never was it false money

He was silent with everyone and called him a poet

He then had a real son from his wife

One who was always right

And for this accountant was his name

Accountant grew very algebraic

Poeta had an absent look

He talked a lot but made nothing

Girl girl why you that night

Did you wander the whole moor by yourself?

Girl you had to stay home dumb

Now there are those who cry for having met you

And the poet said to her: «Margherita, here is the moon

What makes us light come and play

We will invent a river "

As an actor he was not exactly the last

And all the ideas confused her

Showing off roses and azaleas

And then she ran to her father immediately to tell him:

«I made a river of spring

Beyond the valley, into the moor "

«What nonsense this is, my son

No there isn't a river on the moor

I know for sure I made them all myself "

“I, father, challenge you if you are the creator

You try to take that river out of his heart

My father, I challenge you, if you are the emperor

You try to lift us that river and this love "

He was old he was wise and he was never wrong

He took his shrewd son aside

He took the cash book from him and sent it to the garden

There, in the garden, he was crying daisy

She suffered so much that he took her to the sea

The sea is easy, there is little to invent

And it was the old man who blessed the wedding saying:

«Go children of the earth

You are just and have no war "

Then addressed to the infamous word-maker

He chased it away with a wave of one hand

The empty jar is no longer needed by anyone

«For the world that is mine I curse you

You will be twenty years old all your life

But you won't be able to call margherita "