A microphone for your nose

una_canzone_per_Pippo.jpg

A song for Pippo.

ĒIíll give you a microphone
A red microphone to break your nose
A microphone for each of your tears to be consoled
Itís a microphone for your nasal cavity
I will give you a rose
A white rose like Bonolis
A white rose that will be useful for forgetting
Every tiny pain
Iím called Fabio and Iím from Turin
I was born in 1948 and Iíve been living in the RAI since I was a child.
I thought I was talking to the devil
Thatís why they enclosed me in the Vatican for 40 years
Iím writing this letter to you because I donít know how to speak
Forgive the handwriting like that of a first form child
And Iím shocked if I experience an erection
But the fault is in the hand that wonít stop fiddling
Iím like a piano with a key broken
The dissonant harmony of a Forza Italia orchestra
And RAI and Mediaset are very similar
In the bit of light that penetrates the opaque windows
I still shit myself because Iím frightened
For the society of the sane Iíve always been rubbish
Smelling of piss and saw dust
This is a mental illness and there is no cure
Iíll give you a microphone
A red microphone to break your nose
A microphone for your nasal cavity
And a rose that can love you
I will give you a rose
A white rose like Bonolis
A white rose that will be useful for forgetting
Every tiny San Remo
Journalists are question marks without sentences
Thousands of space ships that donít go back to base
They are rag dolls hanging out to dry in the sun
The journalists are apostles of the God that pays them
With the psycho dwarf, Iím making an armchair for me
My pathology is that Iím still alone
Now take a tape measureÖ measure mine
And look at me and him Ö who is the most vain?
In the pavilions we made love in secret with Buttiglione
Carving out a corner just for us
I remember the few seconds when we felt alive
Not like true information stacked up in the archives
Of my memories you will be the last one to get lost in the fog
In spite of everything I still wait for you
And if I close my eyes I can feel your hand nearly touching me
Iíll give you a microphone
A red microphone to break your nose
A microphone for each of your tears to be consoled
Itís a microphone for your nasal cavity
I will give you a rose
A white rose like Bonolis
A white rose that will be useful for forgetting
Every tiny pain
Iím called Fabrizio and I wear heels
Dear information Iíve been waiting for you for thirty years
Itís you whoís mad when you believe
When even Pippo betrays me
Iím leaving you this letter and now I must go
Forgive the handwriting like that of a first form child
And are you shocked if I still experience an erection?
Be once more surprised because Fabrizio knows how to use the microphoneĒ

Posted by Beppe Grillo at 12:04 AM in | Comments (1)
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Comments

primo!!!

Posted by: Max | March 9, 2007 09:16 AM


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