Provare a respirare in quest’aria afosa, intrisi di pianto e di destino,
il cielo è vuoto, non c’è via di fuga, solo gesti ripetuti nel limbo.
Non c’è sole nella colpa a noi destinata,
non c’è un domani nella tragedia dei giorno uguali.
Di che cosa siamo accusati, nell’aria pesante dei corridoi?
Qual è il nostro castigo? Il nostro respiro, lo stesso processo.
Non c’è sole nella colpa a noi destinata,
non c’è un domani nella tragedia dei giorni uguali.
Frammenti di vita, colpevoli dalla nascita,
la legge riempie il vuoto che lascia.
Corridoi infiniti della burocrazia,
sentenza-condanna della democrazia.
ENG: Joeseph K.
Trying to breath in this muggy air while soaked with tears and doom. Sky is empty, there’s no escape, only repeated gestures in a limbo. There’s no sun in the guilt which has been doomed to us. There’s no tomorrow in the tragedy of these identical days. Which is our imputation in the muggy air of this hallways? Which is our penance? Our breath, the judicial trial itself. There’s no sun in the guilt which has been doomed to us, There’s no tomorrow in the tragedy of these identical days. Fragments of life, guilty since birth, laws fills the emptiness left by the infinite hallways of bureaucracy.Sentence-conviction of democracy
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