La corte dei miracoli - The Gang

Era fame era sete

erano giorni di carestia

era la corte dei miracoli

era l’inverno e la malattia

era ordine e pulizia

era il tempio il supermercato

erano fantasmi che tornavano

era il futuro surgelato.

Era ancora l’assalto al treno

era l’imbroglio e la rovina

era la ruota della fortuna

era tutto come prima.

Erano in pochi erano in tanti

era la vecchia dinastia

era piccola e feroce

era la nuova borghesia.

Era una sporca camicia nera

mandata in lavanderia

era l’uomo dei miracoli

era di nuovo la nostalgia

Era il telepredicatore

era il servo e la catena

era l’inizio era la fine

era il rogo era la pena.

Era Arcore l’epidemia

era l’idiota l’ideologia

era vino che diventa aceto

era ancora piazzale Loreto

Erano in pochi erano in tanti

era la vecchia dinastia

era piccola e feroce

era la nuova borghesia.

Con Dio dall’altra parte

era un soldato mandato lontano

erano le borse dei mercati

era la notte

che scendeva piano

Era il feudo e il federale

era Pontida la capitale

era il girone dei barattieri

era la ciurma da tribunale

Era il vuoto e la vertigine

era il trionfo del carnevale

era l’ingorgo dei canali

la TV era la cattedrale.

Erano in pochi erano in tanti

era la vecchia dinastia

era piccola e feroce

era la nuova borghesia

che il vento tristo

che il vento tristo

che il vento tristo

se la porti via…

He was hungry and thirsty

they were days of famine

it was the court of miracles

it was winter and sickness

it was order and cleanliness

the temple was the supermarket

they were ghosts returning

it was the frozen future.

It was still the assault on the train

it was cheating and ruin

it was the wheel of fortune

everything was as before.

They were few, they were many

it was the old dynasty

it was small and fierce

it was the new bourgeoisie.

It was a dirty black shirt

sent to laundry

he was the man of miracles

it was nostalgia again

He was the televangelist

he was the servant and the chain

it was the beginning it was the end

was the burning was the penalty.

Arcore was the epidemic

the ideology was the idiot

it was wine that becomes vinegar

it was still piazzale Loreto

They were few, they were many

it was the old dynasty

it was small and fierce

it was the new bourgeoisie.

With God on the other side

he was a soldier sent away

they were the market exchanges

it was night

which descended slowly

It was the fiefdom and the federal

the capital was Pontida

it was the group of barters

it was the court crew

It was the emptiness and vertigo

it was the triumph of the carnival

it was the traffic jam of the canals

the TV was the cathedral.

They were few, they were many

it was the old dynasty

it was small and fierce

it was the new bourgeoisie

that the sad wind

that the sad wind

that the sad wind

if you take her away...