Stormy Six - L'apprendista (1977) 
Good work each morning radio orchestra
made merry and gives you the elbow.
The trumpet screaming a chorus magic, while the violins
salute.
The crowd snaps, surpasses the clocks,
leaves from the gusts of his little steps
precise black and white
that gin cotton under the lights.
"Good job!", The sky is black, the day is born in the city
"Good job!", Sing the walls, everyone will quel che dà.
Lungo la fabbrica continua lo spettacolo
dei giorni che si rincorrono.
In sei nel cerchio galoppano per mordere
la coda della domenica.
Hanno le orbite quadrate come scatole,
quando non li vedi ti guardano;
Hanno tre bocche e trentatrè nastri magnetici.
"Buon lavoro!", il cielo è nero, il giorno nasce in città
"Buon lavoro!", cantano i muri, ognuno avrà quel che dà.
Quando sui viali la pioggia resta sola,
la luce dell'ora elettrica
misura il sonno di piombo della gente
che vende la vita per vivere.
"Buon lavoro!", il cielo è nero, il giorno nasce in città
"Good job!", Sing the walls, everyone will get what you give. The apprentice
In con
under a star is charged, was the world
screaming as if the first was
and instead of stamps and cards
the last on the list, not
man, the apprentice.
beautiful shiny shoes, his jacket
inherited
and inside the folder
bread and omelette.
turned thirteen,
weaned and vaccinated,
entered the track,
not man's apprentice.
And run, run, run,
is now come, the iron works
turned in a basement,
thus come full circle
you put the lid
life has already seen,
not man's apprentice.
Square, beautiful square, the hare goes crazy
if the index you have the chickens we kill them with the little fingers
average adjusted his collar
's scream "thug!"
man and the apprentice.
Carmine Carmine,
he was a barber, a bricklayer
, the smuggler.
Monday was out of work, lying under a crane
Friday,
Sunday with a bouquet of roses at the corner. Carmine
he could sing,
for a while 'you did pray. When
then attacked the guitar,
him to take the time, then sang
and again we were a people.
Carmine invented words,
shiny like tops in the sun.
When you you could not understand,
he took you for a coffee, you
pushing, teasing you,
to make you laugh. Tell
through that wall, you acknowledge
amid the noise,
now that we are together to fight, can I talk
clear why ...
while Carmine sings
we are still a people.
The Barber
Elementary hygiene measures,
under discipline, under the gag
I keep my hands, I seek
postcard
as the barber,
mustache and sideburns, told four jokes
,
greasy pomade.
While the barber's razor
goes over the strip of leather, stronger
shake the red-hot horse,
my shaved head, multiplied by one thousand
the evening from the neck up in the mirror, half
guillotined.
"Under whose turn it is, the Lord is served!"
and dunk the brush.
ritualistic,
I'm gone,
military troops.
In a 'beat-up Italy and fierce
without form and without a voice,
pull up my soup.
While Italy is scratching the scab,
screams in seven dialects,
we divide the silence and anger,
Leninism and comics. All
to sing between the wall and battlements camp
forty plus pants
in the same cage.
praeterita politicam are in Gaeta, four have taken the
tuberculosis. Five
a trailer in September killed them, and a Sardinian
and illiterate.
Duro head and heavy hand,
thanked the captain with two fists
accurate.
Elementary hygiene measures,
not sleep for thinking
only someone cuts the veins,
others know how to wait. Twelve months
all present to cover and bite the
understand each other without speaking.
Cuore Patria delle vedette,
dei tamburini sardi,
calabresini, cecchini e zoppi:
nel tuo salotto buono
c'erano troppi galantuomini,
fabbri, muratorini.
Affogarti era in fondo un gioco truccato,
lo sapevo che un giorno tornavi a galla,
ho sentito il tuo fiato sulla mia spalla
ogni volta che ho detto "proletariato".
Eravamo già pronti
io e te nel timidore,
due maestrine di penna rossa,
quando da chissà dove arriva la scossa
e noi a quattro zampe come bambini
e la testa sprizzava come una miccia
e la lingua gridava la vita dura
ma in letteratura, in letteratura
tornavamo al tuo cuore of Roseanne.
Maybe for us it takes at least a hunger
not stock it, neither fish nor fowl,
chewing fresh water, we can redo
of the infamous smile.
While speaking at meetings more edifying
you read it in his eyes that can not you say to yourself
neither nor who is listening
if we are the Henrys
and if we are Franti. The labyrinth
summer, along the highway,
under the canopies that burn,
we pause a moment while
trucks go to the South
The campaign is a name under the sun, the
campaign is the campaign, it is logical,
marks the double limit of this stretch of town.
You're like a rat in the wheel, the path
scented plastic products
walled cottages in the Autogrill. And
wrong way and lose the thread
and you feel like a Swiss
get you in the streets and you have left in your pocket for a souvenir.
The crystal ball is reversed, the Bay of Naples
snows,
put a little 'light music
and wires inside the movie.
Towards the no man's land,
the brain begins to fry,
your language limps,
not remember who you are. And
wrong way and lose the thread,
you find yourself yelling "Geronimo!"
inside the refugee camp
acchiappacitrulli Kinderheim.
D'estate, lungo l'autostrada,
siamo soli e siamo un esercito.
Seduti allo svincolo,
ognuno in petto la sua star,
sopravvissuti alle stagioni,
ogni anno sempre più giovani,
forse non ci siamo più,
forse non ci siamo stati mai.
Rosso Guarda sull'Unità
stanotte è morto Mao Tse Tung
e io mi sento scricchiolare
dento il mio nome e la mia età.
Anni non so per te
che un clacson secco dietro un tram
era una truppa dell'apocalisse,
un segnale di pietà.
Anni di polizia,
pesate di macelleria,
le sentivamo dure sulla testa,
freedom and democracy. There was
Youth
to march on the sidewalk down,
under a heavy rain, stone-throwing
the drums, the tribe ... Years
were my
and has lived half
much that I do not know if I'm talking about or if
the city. But here in the city
that neither your nor my
not one place but a photo bag
without the caption.
Find your joy,
honor of the company,
with the song that comforts you
no rhythm nor harmony.
The Orchestra of whistles When you least expect it
broke reality, the orchestra is
whistles that gives the alarm to the city, gives the alarm
with drums and no sleep,
writes in red on the walls
and splits the world into two halves.
is not a choir of cherubs on the treadmill
whistle blows and the power of the dream and the simplicity of
not need a chorus of cherubs on the treadmill
whistle blows and the power of the dream and the
simplicity of the need
Nothing remains equal to itself, the contradiction
moves everything.
Nothing remains equal to itself, the contradiction
moves everything.
Nothing remains equal to itself, the contradiction
moves everything. Nothing remains
equal to itself, the contradiction
moves everything.
(confused voices of the previous verses)
