Sixty Nine shouts,
for what good they'll do,
Cutting open wounds that
Grimace, say you're fine;
you're fine. Fine.
It's all okay. It's me;
flint and dawn, crackling
into existence, bursting
la piazza, it's everywhere
they look, the sudden fear.
Whisper into my ear,
Non ho paura,
Whisper so I can hear you,
Rushing lexis and words,
brushing past the lines,
Everything we were, love,
Drawing lines in the
dust of broken buildings
that crashed, were torn down,
blown apart by some sort of
justice, but we're here,
Whisper into my ear,
Io non ho paura.
Seventy Two shots, reeling
and riding up, flick, click,
bang BANG. BANG. I'm fine.
It's fine. Dashing in and out,
right and left, bang. BANG.
Lorusso. Alesandrini. Lurilli.
Mana running to the future.
Bologna. It's coming. It's coming.
Whisper into my ear,
Non ho paura,
Whisper so I can hear you,
Rushing lexis and words,
brushing past the lines,
We're not there.
Whisper into my ear,
Io non ho paura.