Una línea de almas extrañas

Who am I?

 No sono nessuno.

Although I were teached to write 

Instigated to enhance my might

Told it was a lost cause not to fight.

If you were able to pick, stand over a night,

Get your head clearer 

Respect, praise humility even before you have it. 

As times end nostalgically, others begin hopefully.

When you think you have lost it, insane,

Maybe it is the sign, “not to tame” 

You, blind to a round corner, lost at the cyclades

Printed in your neon back, everybody sees,

But you, old, unbearable, misanthrope,

You,untamed, have forgotten light or hope.

When you are confronted with your old bests,

Maybe you understand that weirdness, 

A line of tortured souls, departed without any rests