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Immense Prayer - Fabrizio De Andre
High above the shipwrecks,
from the lookouts of the towers,
bent and distant over the elements of disaster,
over the things that happen beyond words,
celebrating nothingness,
along an easy wind
of satiety, of impunity,
over the metallic scandal
of weapons in use and weapons laid aside,
leading the column
of sorrow and smoke
that leaves behind its endless battles at the fall of evening.
The majority stands there, the majority stands there,
reciting a rosary
of petty ambitions,
of age-old fears,
of inexhaustible cunning,
quietly cultivating
the horrible variety
of their own prides.
The majority stands
like a disease,
like bad luck,
like an anaesthetic,
like a habit,
for those who travel in stubborn opposition,
against the current,
bearing their special mark
of special despair,
and among the vomit of the rejected
take their final steps,
to deliver to death
a drop of splendour,
of humanity, of truth.
For the one who, in Aqaba,
cured leprosy with a makeshift sceptre,
and scattered in his wake
devastating jealousies and children,
with improbable names
borrowed from tango singers,
within a vast programme of eternity.
Remember, Lord,
these disobedient servants
of the laws of the pack.
Do not forget their faces.
After wandering so far astray,
it is only right
that fortune should help them,
like an oversight,
like an anomaly,
like a distraction,
like a duty.
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Immense Prayer - Fabrizio De Andre
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