You’re a mountain, but a
swearing mountain.
You’re death, but death
that may shake.

Mountain of lava,
of hundreds of streets,
you hold my life in your hands.

Is this a place for homes
or a place for jail?
Where you’re locked
from morning till night?

You’re purgatory for
all these people
who live in slums
and who live in need.

Whether you smoke or not
you still make noise
its the fire you bear
in your heart.

When the night falls
and the sky gets dark
the mere thought of you
makes us tremble.

Those who live with you
don’t be surprise
if they go mad
they really are mad.

The only safety for us
would be to run away from you…
and yet, where shall we go?
sooner or later
this river of lava
will drag us along and
leave us homeless.
You’re a mountain, but what a mountain.

IN Napoli –

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