At the end of a long week, with emotional ups and downs, I discover that Italians are with a few exceptions, the only ones making music. Forgive my generalisation, am swinging it with Biagio Antonacci.
Yeah, they're cheesy, they're pathetic, especially when they look at you with those puppy eyes or give you the 'you belong to me' stare, but at the end of the day even somebody as cynical as me can fall for them. Again and again.
To recap, some of my greatest loves, at least in this life, were, and are, Italians. Bocelli, Di Stefano, emperor Hadrian and Lu (not necessarily in this order and not all unachievable, as record proves).
Love you all, you still light my fire.
P.S. Non rimpiangere mai,
Non illuderti mai
Certe cose non tornano pił
E non pensarci anche se
Son le cose che hai amato di pił
