da Come uno Scialle di Alberto
There's a gash tearing at my brain diagonally
dumping me at the edge of the road
leading me astray
bent on hurting me
With the right brake stuck
I can't hold my lane
my life is insane
going to end up violently.
It's the ethnical cleansing not letting me
keep the attention on what I should:
they win wars with the axe
of television across brains
they peel the skin off the other tribe
to dress their own ladies and pride
they hollow eyes out and display them
in shopwindows as a lesson.
The girls sees it
and throws up.
Religion blesses it
plucks up courage and
provides supernatural support.
Was there really nothing we could do
nor any way to cut it short
are they really the only ones
to feed their children on their own excrements
the only ones to blackmail life?
Have the profitable arms shipments
the overtelevised simplistic version
not made it so?
Wasn't the choice of rotten political representatives
the final blow
to the movement of mothers against war
about to reunite the crumbling country?
Entire towns and villages
are being pushed into mass suicide.
My despair is our hypocrisy .
Beyond the brink the precipice.