The 90's, small town close to Milan,
industrial building behind the graveyard,
the night begins.
In the twilight strobe
the first thing that jumps in the eye
hided by tons of make up and lipstick.
on faces over unbottoned shirts,
grey hair exposed.
on the faces of the orchestra.
one wet cloud rises from the bodies,
gets trapped on the ceiling
falls, like revenge,
on who generated her.
We dance under the rain.
The hand sinks, in the warm flash
that makes all man crazy.
The ritme, punctuated by percussion,
makes the bodies vibrate.
When the music moves the skin
no age divides it.
The skeletons in the graveyard are smiling,
together with the dancers.
Because they know,
all of them,
that soon or later
it will be finished.