Testo Bisanzio (Englisch)
Marco Carta sarà un naufrago dell'Isola dei Famosi 2016
Bisanzio Byzanthium So, even tonight the moon has risen Drowned in too red, too vague a colour And you can?t see Vesper, it?s growing dark The point of the stylus has broken What horoscope can you cast tonight, Magician? I, Philematios, archiater, mathematician, astronomer, Maybe a sage, groping in the dark like a blind man, I have not the knowledges, or the courage To cast this horoscope, to divine an oracle And I stay here waiting for the dawn to come... And I must say, I must say That I am maybe too old to understand That I did loose my faith in no matter what abuse or otium Or are the stars changing in the equinoctial nights? I, maybe, I, maybe Have underestimated this new god, for sure, I feel, I see in the stars that something is changing But it is only a sign that doesn?t tell me how and when.. On last ev?ning I was walking almost unconciously To the Bosphoreion harbour, where dryland does fade In the sea and becomes a vague infinite And when you?re back on dryland, another Continent, No matter if the sea was blue or green, I heard groups of drunkards singing absurd songs, With their painted eyes, with their empty glances A hippodrome, a brothel, soldiers from the North Tell me, Romans and Greeks, where have you gone? I heard bloody oaths in Alemannic and Gothic... Strange city, absurd city Of this emperor who?s the bridegroom of a whore Of an immense plebs, of labyrinths, of impiety Of barbarians who, maybe, do already know the truth Of philosophers, of heterae, Hanging between two epochs and two worlds My wealth and age decided for a day not far to come And then, fate would ask her that she would give me her hand, but... Byzanthium?s maybe only an imperscrutable symbol, secret and ambiguous just like this life Byzanthium is a world I?m not accustom?d to, Byzanthium is a dream not coming to an end Byzanthium, maybe, has never exist?d, and I still don?t know, another night has gone Lucifer?s already risen, there?s a blow of wind, it is cold on the tower or it?s my sick age I can?t tell life from death, which of the two has gone I cover my head with my mantle, I can?t hear anything more Falling asleep, falling asleep, falling asleep.