“When i was a child I loved watching the clouds change shapes.
Sleeping elephants, puckered faces of witches”
I walk slowly inside for hours
Morning it smells like cut flowers
Dragging a surreal premonition
A silent, guilt admission
Too long to write letters
Long time to arrange drawers
Monitors replace the windows
We have crying proposals on TV
Electrical symbols that touch me
A civilization that takes pride in itself
Uncorking a last jar of caviar
When fame will be a shadow
And the proud sense will be diluted
While a man beats his girlfriend on live streaming
You will see lights turn into flames
Americans will shoot in the sky
Hoping for bullets that destroy the bacteria
Or just for the gross domestic product
Too long to write letters
Long time to arrange drawers
The news will be painful catapults
Oh daddy what will become of me?
Maybe the time for clouds has returned
music by Marco Grieco
lyrics by Nicola Cruciani
vocals, kyboards, bass, drums, electric guitar, orchestral, arrangement, soundscapes, guitar solo 1 - Marco Grieco
guitar solo 2 - Vincenzo Lardo
lap steel - Nicola Cruciani