More songs by Achille Lauro
Description
Love didn't end with a scream, but with the sound of a door closing. Everything seems clear, but there's a strange aftertaste, as if a draft just blew thru and the room got colder. There was neither despair nor pleading in his voice, just a tired "okay." That stage when you're not looking for someone to blame, but simply realize the play is over and you can turn off the lights. There's a touch of madness in that rhythm, the madness of a person who still feels but is already letting go. He doesn't break, he doesn't tear, he just leaves with the quiet dignity that comes when there's nothing left to prove. And she... she seems to be already looking for next March, the next "maybe it will work out." But who said March will even arrive?
Lyrics and translation
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