As you can see below, it is not true that all the lyrics are from Pasolini's poem One of Many Epilogues [Uno dei tanti epiloghi], as Appers66 claims. Walker, as per his habit, freely uses material that seems to revolve around Pasolini and his problematics. So, here's the poem for context (trans. Stephen Sartarelli):
One of Many Epilogues
Hey, Ninarieddo, remember that dream,
the one we talked about so many times . . . ?
I was in my car, heading off alone, the seat
beside me empty, and you were running after me;
when you reached the still half-open door,
anxious and stubbornly running, you cried out
with a childish sort of whine in your voice:
“Hey, Paolo, can you take me with you? Will you pay my way?”
It was the journey of life, and only in a dream
could you drop your guard and ask me for something.
You know perfectly well that this dream belongs to reality,
and that it wasn’t a dreamed Ninetto who said those words.
In fact you blush when we talk about it.
Last night in Arezzo, in the silence of the night,
when the guard was locking the gate with a chain
behind you, and you were about to disappear,
with your sudden, funny smile, you said: “Thanks!”
Thanks, Ninè? It’s the first time you ever said that to me.
And in fact you realized this and corrected yourself, without losing face
(something you’re a master at), saying:
“Thanks for the ride.” The journey you wanted me
to pay for was, I repeat, the journey of life;
and it was in that dream some three, four years ago that I decided
what my equivocal love of freedom was opposed to.
If you now thank me for the ride, when
you’re in the slammer, my God . . . In fear
I board a plane for a faraway place. My thirst for our life is unquenchable,
because something unique in all the world will never run dry.
As you can see below, it is not true that all the lyrics are from Pasolini's poem One of Many Epilogues [Uno dei tanti epiloghi], as Appers66 claims. Walker, as per his habit, freely uses material that seems to revolve around Pasolini and his problematics. So, here's the poem for context (trans. Stephen Sartarelli):
One of Many Epilogues
Hey, Ninarieddo, remember that dream, the one we talked about so many times . . . ? I was in my car, heading off alone, the seat beside me empty, and you were running after me; when you reached the still half-open door, anxious and stubbornly running, you cried out with a childish sort of whine in your voice: “Hey, Paolo, can you take me with you? Will you pay my way?” It was the journey of life, and only in a dream could you drop your guard and ask me for something. You know perfectly well that this dream belongs to reality, and that it wasn’t a dreamed Ninetto who said those words. In fact you blush when we talk about it. Last night in Arezzo, in the silence of the night, when the guard was locking the gate with a chain behind you, and you were about to disappear, with your sudden, funny smile, you said: “Thanks!” Thanks, Ninè? It’s the first time you ever said that to me. And in fact you realized this and corrected yourself, without losing face (something you’re a master at), saying: “Thanks for the ride.” The journey you wanted me to pay for was, I repeat, the journey of life; and it was in that dream some three, four years ago that I decided what my equivocal love of freedom was opposed to. If you now thank me for the ride, when you’re in the slammer, my God . . . In fear I board a plane for a faraway place. My thirst for our life is unquenchable, because something unique in all the world will never run dry.
September 2, 1969