He moves his mouth and his head while he sings.
Yaco Monti, ladies and gentlemen.
Yaco Monti
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He moves his mouth and his head while he sings.
Yaco Monti, ladies and gentlemen.
“He moves his mouth and his head while he sings.”
He doesn’t move anything else because he’s numbed by grief.
Fair enough.
The Google Translated Lyrics, though not exactly lucid, are surprisingly poignant.
What are your eyes
I will never forget you
having your hair
who lives in my hands
That is the memory
that grows in my soul
as a bitter taste
I do not think
That is your voice
who lives in my coming
who has your mouth
biting my hours
That is the memory
that grows in my soul
as a weed
I do not think
with your eyes
I will never forget you
That is the memory
that grows in my soul
as a bitter taste
I do not think
What are your eyes
I will never forget you
having your hair
who lives in my hands
That is the memory
that grows in my soul
as a weed
I do not think