Here's how I used to think
you made a book:
a poet comes along,
mouth half open, inspired,
then suddenly the idiot bursts into song -
fancy that!

“The love boat has crashed against the everydayYou and I, we are quitsAnd there …”

“[...] se volete, sarò tenero in modo inappuntabile, non uomo, ma nuvola in calz…”

“A chestnut-haired childCheering up, wentand stood in his stall.And took the who…”

“حيثما سأموت، سأموت وأنا أغني.”