Ho preso gli schiaffi (le gocce) e le botte del freddo (dell'acqua) e del vino. Non ho premuto sull'acceleratore, poiché ero senza luci blu. Non ho fatto il pieno, e forse non lo farò mai più. Forse tra pochi giorni. Forse mai. Più. Ignazio. Più. Pià. Boh.
Dunque:
«Flying so high, trying to remember
how many cigarettes did I bring along?
When I get down I'll jump in a taxi cab
driving through London town
to cry you a song.

It's been a long time
still shaking my wings.
Well, I'm a glad bird
I got changes to ring.

Closing my dream inside its paper-bag.
Thought I saw angels
but I could have been wrong.
Search in my case,
can't find what they're looking for.
Waving me through
to cry you a song.

It's been a long time
still shaking my wings.
Well I'm a glad bird
I got changes to ring.

Lights in the street,
peeping through curtains drawn.
Rattling of safety chain taking too long.
The smile in your eyes was never so sweet before
Came down from the skies
to cry you a song.»
Buonanotte a Rimini ed ai prati in fiore.