𝙏𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙤 𝙞𝙣 𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙖 𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙚 (𝙇𝘼𝘿𝙄𝙉𝙊 𝙁𝘼𝙎𝙎𝘼𝙉𝙊): Pasc de paradis, lò che i pré depenc de grisc Lò che i monc e l ciel i à l più ciar valor, No capesce più se mie paisc l’é mie paisc. Post da melanconia, che ne sera via, no l’é na bujia, no l’é na bujia. Post da melanconia, che ne sera via, no l’é na bujia, no l’é na bujia. Ma che ne restel se chiò duc se n va, Sion pastres che ge varda dò al peton. E alora dime tu cala l’é la fortuna, demolir su dut à fat noscia fortuna, L’é doventà n post da melanconia che ne sera via, no l’é na bujia, no l’é na bujia. No l’è na bujia. Pasc de paradis, sion formie col venter pien. Aon spostà ence i monc, sajon dapò sajon, per slariar la centa de le brae perché aane de besegn, demò besegn de far sù n… Post da melanconia, che ne sera via, no l’é na bujia, no l’é na bujia. Post da melanconia, che ne sera via, no l’é na bujia, no l’é na bujia. Ma che ne restel se chiò duc se n va, Sion pastres che ge varda dò al peton. E alora dime tu cala l’é la fortuna, demolir su dut à fat noscia fortuna, L’é doventà n post da melanconia che ne sera via, no l’é na bujia, no l’é na bujia. GUITAR SOLO (+ no l’é na bujìa) E alora dime tu cala l’é la fortuna, demolir su dut à fat noscia fortuna, L’é doentà n post da melanconia che ne sera via, no l’é na bujia, no l’é na bujia. No l’é na bujia. 𝙏𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙪𝙯𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙚 (𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙇𝙀𝙎𝙀): Peace of heaven, there where meadows painted gray. There where the mountains and the sky hold dear, I no longer understand if my village is my village. Place of melancholy, locking me in, it's not a lie, it's not a lie. Place of melancholy, locking me in, it's not a lie, it's not a lie. But what's left if everyone here leaves, we are shepherds watching the cement. Then you tell me what the luck is. Destroying everything has made our fortune, Has become a place of melancholy that locks us in, it's not a lie, it’s not a lie. It’s not a lie. Peace of heaven, we are ants with full bellies. We also moved mountains season after season, to widen the waistband of our pants because we needed, just needed to build a… Place of melancholy, locking me in, it's not a lie, it's not a lie. Place of melancholy, locking me in, it's not a lie, it's not a lie. But what's left if everyone here leaves, we are shepherds watching the cement. Then you tell me what the luck is. Destroying everything has made our fortune, Has become a place of melancholy that locks us in, it's not a lie, it is not a lie. GUITAR SOLO (+ it’s not a lie) Then you tell me what the luck is. Destroying everything has made our fortune, Has become a place of melancholy that locks us in, it's not a lie, it’s not a lie. It’s not a lie.