PLASTIC CHILDREN. Ci siamo sentiti tutti, almeno una volta, dei bambini di plastica...

Standing by the window, I look outside

Through the bars, I listen to the falling rain

Cold is around me as the clouds walk on by

Smelling the wooden smoke from our neighbourhood,

As everywhere around me is soaked and miserable.

When I was a little boy I adored rainy days

The rain soaking me to the skin

I adored the mud I could wallow into

And the noise cars make on rainy streets.

I adored the city afternoons in bitter winters

When the darkness comes early.

All these memories I keep

Will not scratch out the regrets

For not having you by my side.

I am irritated by your distracted presence.