E questo mi dispiace.
“You’ll never know the hurt I suffered nor the pain I rise above
And I’ll never know the same about you, your holiness or your kind of love
And it makes me feel so sorry
Idiot wind, blowing through the buttons of our coats
Blowing through the letters that we wrote
Idiot wind, blowing through the dust upon our shelves
We’re idiots, babe
It’s a wonder we can even feed ourselves”
Idiot Wind
Bob Dylan
Copyright © 1974 by Ram’s Horn Music; renewed 2002 by Ram’s Horn Music
