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Frankie Hi NRG — Verba Manent (1993)
Books of Blood (Italian original)
Translation by Marco SolaroliThere are people who call intolerance
We are books of blood, volumes of future history, different culture but identical nature
This shadow that's advancing, chasing, increasing its power
Son of arrogance and ignorance, reason of life for who lost his conscience
And blindly believes in the supremacy of one race on the others:
No, that's not my vision of life,
And the game is not over until it's over and I've just started it
Dice have been thrown and the avalanche of numbered faces has not stopped yet
We don't have the result: they have tried to decide a priori who's in and who's out
Who's one and who's zero, who's white and who's black,
But this is a part's opinion, it's not the most important,
It's only the opinion of the strongest, and we can't escape the death.
Acting like the cat and the mouse is not the aim of this role playing,
Led by an unscrupulous master, hate among people, the strongest on the weakest,
They are able to create indemonstrable alibi, they show futile but incontestable reasons,
They deny all the rights to the other men
In name of a justice of the men
but only in the form, not in the intents
Are you big? I respect you, otherwise kick out your teeth
Different aspects, we are written in thousand languages, but we are books of blood . . . All books of blood . . .
It's needless to deny, these are the facts, same prologue and epilog for everybody
Rascals, corrupted politicians, pseudo-scholars, Mafiosi, policemen,
There's no room for any distinction, we are all members of the same nation: Zulu
And when a man is naked he is naked and nobody can say if this man is good or bad
It doesn't matter how he wears: even with a uniform a beast is still a beast
And he is supposed to protect rights… whose rights? It's happened to brother Rodney King
Guilty of the crime of being born black in the dark capital of the empire of money
Beat after beat, beaten like an octopus, banded, tied up like a goat, dragged on its scalp,
(It's been) documented, they filmed it, pages of hate written on the pavement
Beats with the blood of a man, innocent and without any power
who had nothing to do with those bastards
But dear people it happens also in Italy every day
But nobody hears about that
Slowly but inexorably the sand of the time covers the minds
Every day, every month, every year,
Throughout the world violence is the reason of action for people and nations
Sex, race, religion,
It's always a good moment to hate
But we must remember
That we are books of blood . . . All books of blood . . . Pages over pages of feelings, emotions, decisions, rethoughts,
Fully written pages, souls transfixed by the pain to know that there are people who don't want to understand that it's painful to feel and see yourself as different,
Obliged to set in scene a perverse farce in this universe
With only people in the background led by hate
"You can either win or lose"
No, I refuse to accept this wriggled logic typical of those who don't want to love
But wants to judge by the cover
A man seated on an armchair
Individuals like this rule the world
And the background is even fuller of death and disconsolation
The relationship is inclining, inevitably we're going down
The list of obtuse men is already long, but in the future there will be even more abuses of power on
Women humiliated by the managers, if you are "good" you'll have your job Otherwise you'll be kicked out
Men born far way, too far in the south to help them
Smoking carcasses in the fields under the sun
Thousand of throats swollen with painful words
Spines in the heart of those who see their brothers rotting
People used as trading goods
I oppose all this, I can't find any compromise with this reality
And I don't want, I don't want, I don't want gallows to be the name of the next chapter we're about to write
Come on! You gotta understand it
Let's use more our hearts and less clubs
Because we are books of blood . . .
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