How Does A Baby Get Ringworm

Jukebox Saturday: L 'Last Witness - Yo Yo Mundi

Inspired by the book "Letters from death row inmates of the Italian Resistance, September 8, 1943, April 25, 1945" (Einaudi).

I wrote to my mother, begging me to come down
to terms with my enemies,
will help you see your brother, you just want to save
I know this makes me and tenderness, but
in our family there is a thread that breaks,
but I think that one day,
in a time not far away, somewhere in the
hear your mother, maybe
with a red flower in his hand,
discover that now you can barely understand: better
a son who died as a partisan Gappisti
a traitor and a fascist is still alive.

Here I write with ink from the deep darkness of the night where I hide,
here I am writing you from the dark depths in ink tonight I'm experiencing.

I wrote to my love,
not see me back, I wrote to her breast
not have my children to feed,
I wrote to her lips that will not have my kisses coloring
I wrote to her eyes that do not I can already remember most
returned in all their radiant beauty
when the white bandage on my teach me a new stroke,
before this eternal night so violent, as maternal
these shots after I separated from her.

Here I write with ink from the deep darkness of the night where I hide,
here I am writing you from the darkness of the night deep with the ink of this terrible time.

When the last of us will be gone,
when those who lived through those years of struggle and hope socchiuderà eyes to the world.
When the last smile goes out.
At that precise moment, remember these words of mine and do a song
a song to sing, to sing
to dream, to dream

still together.
A story of courage and fear ...
death, memory, furture and culture.
A story of desire and poetry ...
a story now that your no longer mine.

A wonderful story of a strange kind of love ...
of which you'll always be the last witness.

Here I am writing with ink from the deep darkness of the night where I hide,
here I am writing with ink from the deep darkness of the night where I hide.