I when I saw black and white Mastro
thought to die of grief, I thought not
m'avrebbe right heart,
hoped was a dream, nothing real.
barely there s'abitua
at the thought of having lost our Saviour, nor of what
Cioffi nor Fissore
could never leave a scratch.
The situation now is excellent
caught here with us always on the bottom, and you drag the
Siena still on top.
Yet in my dreams is as before under the curve
blocks in a second from Master
and cross your blow.
