from "Strade Parallele"

TO SKOBLAR    -    Versione italiana

While your secretary
prepares the boxes of sound
you nervously grasp
the strings of your guitar
the usual cigarette hanging on the lips.
While the miracle is about to be achieved
and the demo plays in the ear-phones
fast like gazelles
light like cranes
heavy like T.I.R.
your fingers start
your damned fingers Franco
draw an embridery of notes.
They tear the air
they whip the spools
they torment the heads
they caress the valves
while an anxious technician's
wondering how to mix your notes…
Believe me,it's impossible
to connect you to the rest of the music,
it's impossible to lower your volume
to polish your tone,
your every sound,
your every note
surfaces like
an iceberg
from the sea,
a nail fixed in the wood.
I'll call you music,
I'll call you sound,
I'l call you poetry
and feeling,
solid rock
just scratched
by the wind.

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