Testo Never Forget
Tiziano Ferro annuncia il nuovo album: "Il Mestiere Della Vita"
You figured me out by dirty plans. Dirty hands. What everybody wants to hear. No need to wash them cause they'll be clean in a second whenever I choose to wipe away my tears. Living a life of dreams. Things can't get no better. You'll find meanings of warmth in one souls sweater. From the glory days to the wonder years. The story stays but so long childhood fears. I'll die with sore hands, laying on the floor. Until I can't carry my chaotic contraband of a heart anymore, and never settle for less. (Never settle with a heart that has been torn.) I remember at the time when I was 4 or 5. There was something missing like a father figure so I figured he wasn't alive, but in my mind. He either bought a plane ticket up or went to that lake of fire for a dive. I asked mom where was dad. She said in a nursing home. My brother and I was the only thing she ever really had, and I bet she was really proud to see how much I have actually grown. He was in a coma since I was 3. He had a stroke. I never knew until I started to wonder. I had my shirt soaked. I was so provoked, and I had my heart broke. But I kept on pushing and being consistent. He said I love you to my brother and looked at me like he didn't know I existed. So I tried to fix it and always visit him and prayed. That there would be one day he would call me Jonathan, instead of calling me by my brothers name. (What a shame.) I was the mistake. His only sons clone named Jonathan. A fake. I felt I lost a distant friend when he passed away in his last November in 2000. When I was only 10. After that, things went to Hell. My brother skipped school everyday because of fights. Can't write with fists so swell. I knew but couldn't tell. I knew family isn't for sale. At night, he would come home, so high with his eyes red like brake lights, and getting called names no one ever likes. Running away was the best idea that shined so bright. And living with a full blooded Korean mother, destined to work hard as ever. With two jobs, trying to make things blend together like salt and pepper. (Her crying every night is what I remember.) Quitting her school when she was seven, in the second grade. To help raise money for her family on the streets by selling flowers and lemonade. (Lemonade. Running around bare feet.) Seemless as I, I had butterflies turning into sharp knives inside, with my eyes to the sky. Asking god why? Now people say she's lucky. With a nice house and doing better than fine. To have met my step-dad that was raised in Kentucky. And when they smile, I smile, and when they're happy. I'm happy. But I'm still outside in the rain in pieces, waiting for my god sent. I just need someone to put me back together, (and to find my blueprint.)