Translation:

Rome, I look at you from the top of Monte Mario.
A quiet, pink sunset is near.
The traffic noise reverberates far only …

How many tourists in the meadows, in the heat of July.
Now, in Autumn, I contemplate the absolute desert.
I would like to do like swallows, migrate to North Africa.

And I feel, I feel distant and I feel foreign
And I feel, I feel distant and I feel foreign
I’d love you, I would love you more if I knew you less?

Here, how many loves in the meadows, in spring.
October, your month, seems no less intense to me
Loneliness, sadness; my hope, your promise.

And I feel, I feel distant and I feel foreign
And I feel, I feel distant and I feel foreign
I’d love you, I would love you more if I knew you less?