ATMOSPHERE D’EMOTION

Extension of a branch fallen between the wet moss and furrowed by our uncertain steps among the trees who move the cathedral of mystery, without horizon. The measure of things is missing, the breath of everyday life is missing, in the dark green frozen by the thin clouds that reshape the shapes with a humid pride.

Where iron and stone along the river soaked oxygen. And nothingness becomes dusty being, attempting a journey into the impossible and clinging to a rusty and wet support. Bring your hand closer, close your eyes and listen in the silence that surrounds you…

In the invisible sea where we wander, mixing instant fear and convulsive pleasure, between saline repulsion and voluptuousness, shifting the boundary of one's self that fluctuates and never stops. Suffocated by a dull and distant sound that deforms and suffers, enjoys, dies and lives again, always remaining a little high and suspended.

DEBOLEHave you ever tried to smell wet wood for the chimney? In the mountain of solitude, a gray cloud communicates me that are in someone’s hand.And he leads me by the hand where existences tear.Each verse of my poems are next to each other untouched.untouched. And the world is lost.With the falling drops I do not mark the time, I am just away from life.And I amalgamated in the dramatic sound of emotions.It rains on the void and the cry becomes matter, it breaks the silence.Voices sway. Here is the meeting, between the asphalt and its liquid footsteps drawn and which confirm the man alone,in the existential metropolis of noise. Debole. Here is the fear, of a wood that is silent suspended, amazed by the water that deceives, a generator of mold that obstructs the fire. Forte. Here is the dance in the dark, among the clouds of the solo song who wants to embrace an eternal flesh. We are lovers immersed in the drama of the other’s salty tears, e now united by the rain that mixes the smells to make them only one. Intensa Pioggia. Atmosphere d’emotion.

MODERATA It’s the nostalgia of finding yourself walking in Milan while your own steps draw your emotions on the road wet. In the mountain of solitude, a gray cloud communicates me that are in someone’s hand.And he leads me by the hand where existences tear.Each verse of my poems are next to each other untouched.untouched. And the world is lost.With the falling drops I do not mark the time, I am just away from life.And I amalgamated in the dramatic sound of emotions.It rains on the void and the cry becomes matter, it breaks the silence.Voices sway. Here is the meeting, between the asphalt and its liquid footsteps drawn and which confirm the man alone,in the existential metropolis of noise. Debole. Here is the fear, of a wood that is silent suspended, amazed by the water that deceives, a generator of mold that obstructs the fire. Forte. Here is the dance in the dark, among the clouds of the solo song who wants to embrace an eternal flesh. We are lovers immersed in the drama of the other’s salty tears, e now united by the rain that mixes the smells to make them only one. Intensa Pioggia. Atmosphere d’emotion.

FORTETwo bodies united in the memory of a sudden heavy shower. Two desires that embrace through the water. In the mountain of solitude, a gray cloud communicates me that are in someone’s hand.And he leads me by the hand where existences tear.Each verse of my poems are next to each other untouched.untouched. And the world is lost.With the falling drops I do not mark the time, I am just away from life.And I amalgamated in the dramatic sound of emotions.It rains on the void and the cry becomes matter, it breaks the silence.Voices sway. Here is the meeting, between the asphalt and its liquid footsteps drawn and which confirm the man alone,in the existential metropolis of noise. Debole. Here is the fear, of a wood that is silent suspended, amazed by the water that deceives, a generator of mold that obstructs the fire. Forte. Here is the dance in the dark, among the clouds of the solo song who wants to embrace an eternal flesh. We are lovers immersed in the drama of the other’s salty tears, e now united by the rain that mixes the smells to make them only one. Intensa Pioggia. Atmosphere d’emotion.