SHE'S GONE

This flower that extends its hand to me today
is an imaginary orchid whiter than yesterday
and than the pale white of peace, of every day.

And everything is so quiet that I almost heard, baby,
its petals falling on the floor from the effort made, baby,
to touch me, with its white petals. Yes, dear darling, baby.

The intermittent telephone’s beep and the rock for rock's sake
playing on the record player are like squeezing an inflamed pimple, fake,
in the soul, poor soul crying because she's gone. Tears I make.

Her absence hurts more than a kick in the balls or a slap in the face.
This absence of her hurts so much, she who is gone. She got off my face.
She left to never return, as it seems. I miss her rock and roll. No trace.

The rock and roll and she are gone and my phone is now silent. No grace.
The house is a little hollow, empty, mute and without grace. No more grace.
Without her and her soft sweet voice, I’ve no more love. Life without grace.

She's gone, what a pity. She's gone, what a pity. She's gone, what a pity.
I am crying alone. I am crying alone. I am crying alone. I am so alone.
I am singing my rock and roll to let her knowing news about me. So alone.

Hope she will clap her hands and dance and sing my rock and roll.
Come on baby, listen and sing, clapping your hands, my rock and roll.
Come on baby, listen and sing, clapping your hands, my rock and roll.
Come on baby. Oh yes. Say yes. Repeat after me. Yes, yes, yes, yes.

Hope you will clap your hands and dance and sing my rock and roll.
Come on baby, listen and sing, clapping your hands, my rock and roll.
Come on baby, listen and sing, clapping your hands, my rock and roll.
Come on baby. Oh yes. Say yes. Repeat after me. Yes, yes, yes, yes.