More songs by Andrea Laszlo De Simone
Description
Breathing, as if it were the culprit of all troubles. It stumbles, trembles, grasping at the air, as if trying to hold onto something that has long been slipping out of control. Each note has a feeling of fragility, like a person who simultaneously wants to live and is afraid to breathe too deeply so as not to be hurt again. Love here isn't about romance, it's about instinct, clenched fists, and the foolish stubbornness not to let go. Every word sounds like an admission of imperfection. They say, yes, it's all because of ourselves: because of the body, because of the silence, because of the desire to be understood by at least someone, just once. And the tighter the embrace, the more painful the touch. It's simple: love and pain, like inhaling and exhaling, don't exist without each other.
Lyrics and translation
Original
È colpa del respiro, fragile come me, se soffro tanto ma son vivo.
È colpa della bocca, stupida come me, e del tuo corpo che la tocca.
È colpa dell'istinto, agile come me, che corre sempre dritto al punto.
È colpa dell'amore, ruvido come me, se ormai non voglio più morire.
Quando parli e quando ridi e piangi e ti ricalci e spingi cercando di guarirmi, quando tu mi stringi sei in grado di ferirmi ed io non so spiegarlo e tu non puoi capirmi.
È colpa del silenzio, timido come me, se non ti dico quel che penso.
È colpa del rumore, pavido come me, se non riesci ad ascoltare.
Quando parli e quando ridi e piangi e ti ricalci e spingi cercando di guarirmi, quando tu mi stringi sei in grado di ferirmi ed io non so spiegarlo e tu non puoi capirmi.
English translation
It's my breathing's fault, fragile like me, if I suffer so much but I'm alive.
It's the mouth's fault, stupid like me, and your body touching it.
It's the fault of instinct, agile like me, which always gets straight to the point.
It's the fault of love, rough like me, if I no longer want to die.
When you talk and when you laugh and cry and kick and push trying to heal me, when you hold me you are able to hurt me and I can't explain it and you can't understand me.
It's the fault of silence, shy like me, if I don't tell you what I think.
It's the noise's fault, fearful like me, if you can't listen.
When you talk and when you laugh and cry and kick and push trying to heal me, when you hold me you are able to hurt me and I can't explain it and you can't understand me.