More songs by tommi
More songs by moth.
Description
Text by: Tommaso Martini Composer: Pietro Piccioni. Composer: Nicola Bonante Producer: Polvere Vocals: Tommy Instruments: Butterfly
Lyrics and translation
Original
I don't wanna live in a -hole anymore. It makes me feel poor. -We are poor, but we're happy.
Comme ci, comme ça. Anyway, the views are better above ground.
E con quegli occhi ti prendo, guardami.
La pelle fa gli scherzi suoi.
Tu sai come toccarmi, ma sai che la nebbia non va via, morirò di asfissia.
Curriculum vitae, ma non sono in vita.
Carriera fantasmata al di là prima, pensi solo al clima. Morirò di vista, ma per ciri continua la critica.
Impronte sul disco non gira lo fisso, colla odiosa sopra le mie dita.
Importasse davvero l'affare è finita, tu non fai l'artista, io faccio la. . .
Chiudi gli occhi e taglia ancora, una radio in disco d'epoca.
Una scena in cui succede qualcosa, guarda come devo dare pena.
Uh, e non mi resta certo, ma non importa più niente, ma non importa la notte.
E con quegli occhi ti prendo, guardami.
La pelle fa gli scherzi suoi.
Tu sai come toccarmi, ma sai che la nebbia non va via, morirò di asfissia.
English translation
I don't wanna live in a -hole anymore. It makes me feel poor. -We are poor, but we're happy.
Come ci, come ça. Anyway, the views are better above ground.
And with those eyes I take you, look at me.
The skin plays its own tricks.
You know how to touch me, but you know the fog doesn't go away, I'll die of asphyxiation.
Curriculum vitae, but I'm not alive.
Career ghosted beyond before, you only think about the climate. I will die by sight, but for ciri the criticism continues.
Fingerprints on the disc doesn't turn, I stare at it, hateful glue on my fingers.
If it really mattered, the deal is over, you're not an artist, I'm a. . .
Close your eyes and cut again, a vintage disco radio.
A scene where something happens, look how sorry I have to be.
Uh, and I certainly don't have any left, but nothing matters anymore, but the night doesn't matter.
And with those eyes I take you, look at me.
The skin plays its own tricks.
You know how to touch me, but you know the fog doesn't go away, I'll die of asphyxiation.