I had a vision the other day.
It was a horrible day at white heat, a day like many others.
I was walking in those non-places made of asphalt, shopping centers, warehouses, and billboards.
But the worst thing was the music, horrible mirror of a world where the only things to last more than a song Antonacci are wars and famines.
a sudden turn in a narrow country, while the air cools and the light gives way to darkness.
And now another life. There's music in a strange issue of late.
The sound of the soul that can never listen to because there is always something else on. Voices and sounds
friends, the comfort of a full past and a future open. The word paradise.
not to move much from here.
But here is precisely the most beautiful ugly horn concert started, the engine rumbles and rumors pissed to say: "Here's your usual world of shit"
The vision now escapes me, but the sign of that vision remains:
"Late Night Broadcast "compiled by Mirco Salvadori
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