I'm a hunter
born to kill
nerves of steel
quick as a ferret.
With my scoop
I send, in the shit-eater-paradise,
every fly ovest from Lambro river.

I open a beer...
play for a while with the cap
and crush it in my hands.
Bended red cap: lips with teeth.

Flies buzz around me,
making me think about vultures.

I grow old and I finished
becoming more wise.

Always more fat, more slow,
more indifferent.

The flame of enthusiasm falters,
like fire in the rain,

and I keep on telling myself: not today!

Do not call me, do not talk to me,
do not ask me no shit!

Tomorrow I will say everything,
I'll be sincere,
face the thruth...