quoyle Dicembre 1st, 2007

On Air: Quoyle Mon Coeur est Rouge (Aka Paint my heart red) - written by Keith Jarrett

• Boh , pianoforte , sogni , citazioni , Cielo , Intervals , nuvole
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quoyle Novembre 11th, 2007

Questa mattina mi son svegliato
oh bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao,
questa mattina mi son svegliato
e ho trovato l’invasor.
Oh partigiano, portami via
oh bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao,
oh partigiano, portami via,
che mi sento di morir.
E se io muoio lassù in montagna
oh bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao,
e se io muoio lassù in montagna
tu mi devi seppellir.
Seppellire sulla montagna,
oh bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao,
seppellire sulla montagna
sotto l’ombra di un bel fior.
E le genti che passeranno,
oh bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao,
e le genti che passeranno
mi diranno: ” Che bel fior “.
È questo il fiore del partigiano,
oh bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao,
è questo il fiore del partigiano
morto per la libertà.

On Air: Quoyle Storia=Memoria Trio Live teatro del sale

• Boh , pianoforte , racconti , elucubrazioni , viaggi , Quoyle
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quoyle Ottobre 27th, 2007

Round, like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel.
Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel
Like a snowball down a mountain
Or a carnaval balloon
Like a carousell that’s turning
Running rings around the moon

Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes on it’s face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Like a tunnel that you follow
To a tunnel of it’s own
Down a hollow to a cavern
Where the sun has never shone
Like a door that keeps revolving
In a half forgotten dream
Or the ripples from a pebble
Someone tosses in a stream.

Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes on it’s face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Keys that jingle in your pocket
Words that jangle your head
Why did summer go so quickly
Was it something that I said
Lovers walking allong the shore,
Leave their footprints in the sand
Was the sound of distant drumming
Just the fingers of your hand

Pictures hanging in a hallway
And a fragment of this song
Half remembered names and faces
But to whom do they belong
When you knew that it was over
Were you suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning
To the color of her hair

Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel
As the images unwind
Like the circle that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Pictures hanging in a hallway
And the fragment of this song
Half remembered names and faces
But to whom do they belong
When you knew that it was over
Were you suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning
To the color of her hair

Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning,
On an ever spinning wheel
As the images unwind
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

On Air: Quoyle The windmills of your mind

• Boh , elucubrazioni , cerchi , Quoyle , nuvole
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