IL N’Y A PAS DES MARINS QUI CHANTENT

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lyrics

Sbarcano. Con un pacco gonfio di birra e di catastrofe
barcollano. Tenendosi le braccia sulle spalle
cadono. In ginocchio. Si appoggiano. La testa fra le gambe.
Si baciano. Ma solo se sono proprio ubriachi.
Contrabbandano. C’è una trans che vende sigarette in piazza.
E fumano. Parlando delle loro cicatrici si raccontano. Storie
di zucchero, cemento. Dolore. Hanno fame e mangiano.
Le cameriere li trovano attraenti. Si suicidano per loro.
Dormono: mangiano lune. In preda ad un delirium tremens
sognano. Di essere vivi. Una scopata. Alzano il culo e se ne vanno.
Verso un altro petto peloso. Si inseguono, fanno finta.
Di guardare altrove. Qualcun altro. Non di certo te.

_ _ _


They come ashore. With a pack swollen with beer and catastrophe
they stagger. Arms around shoulders
they fall. On their knees. They lean over. Head between legs.
They kiss. But only if they really are drunk.
They smuggle. There’s a lady-boy who sells cigarettes in the square.
And they smoke. Talking about their scars they tell their stories. Of
sugar, cement. Sorrow. They’re hungry and eat.
The waiters find them attractive. They commit suicide for them.
They sleep: eating moons. In a fit of delirium tremens
they dream. To be alive. A shag. They shag their ass and leave.
To another shaggy chest. They shag each other, pretending.
They were looking somewhere else. Someone else. Not you.

credits

from Hotel Oriente, released November 23, 2015
Lyrics by Marco Simonelli translated by Brenda Porster

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