A whiter shade of pale

Strade buie.
La macchina fila.
Disincanto. Silenzio, rotto solo dalla voce di Annie.
Assenza di dolore.
Pace.
Chiarezza.
La mia anima è una stanza vuota reimbiancata.
Una scatola dalle pareti candide e gli angoli smussati.
Mi aggrappo a questa sensazione, vorrei catturarla per sempre.
Poi capisco che per assaporarla devo lasciarla libera.
La perderò sicuramente.
Ma ora so che esiste, so com'è fatta, so cosa vuol dire.
La ritroverò.




We skipped a light fandango,
Turned cartwheels 'cross the floor.
I was feeling kind of seasick,
But the crowd called out for more.
The room was humming harder,
As the ceiling flew away.
When we called out for another drink,
The waiter brought a tray.

And so it was that later,
As the miller told his tale,
That her face at first just ghostly,
Turned a whiter shade of pale.


She said there is no reason,
And the truth is plain to see
That I wandered through my playing cards,
And would not let her be
One of sixteen vestal virgins
Who were leaving for the coast.
And although my eyes were open,
They might just as well have been closed.

And so it was later,
As the miller told his tale,
That her face at first just ghostly,
Turned a whiter shade of pale.