Quando la poesia non c’è più
(When poetry will have disappeared)
I will go to cross the black continent of the prose
And the night will rain remorse on me
I will find your silhouette standing on my inkwell,
I will embrace the perfumes of the roses gone

Quando la poesia avrà vissuto
When poetry will have lived,
I will make up my eyes with Indian ink
I will cut the paper of the night
To write my dreams in the light of the stars
I will go to lie down on the rock scattered in the winds,

Quando la poesia tace
When poetry will be silent,
I’ll grab the naked arm of prose,
I will fight a duel with the shadow of a poem
The red night will fall in ashes
My lyre will find death in its bed of black stars

Quando la poesia sarà bandita
When poetry will be banished,
I will go to find the Devil, he shall see my tears
I will howl the end of love,
And in a castle of forgotten verses
I’ll turn myself into paper

Quando la poesia ha dato la sua vita,
When poetry will have given up its life,
So that prose comes out of oblivion,
I will prostrate myself before the eternal snow in fire
I will pursue the radiance of your smile everywhere,
I will make a passionate music spring from the cities