| Much more than the ground beneath my feet |
| Here I miss voices and the city |
| And I miss you, because I haven’t seen you |
| Since I’ve been here |
| We went up before the shift ended |
| To the factory roof to see |
| Whether from up there we could finally see |
| The one who got us fired |
| The first day he took off almost hurriedly |
| With us above and the others arguing below |
| But whose faces are those above the roof |
| And what do they have to look at? |
| Then the patrol car came tearing in |
| And a little boy waved from a window |
| Before night fell |
| The television crew set up shop |
| But no, I’m not coming down |
| Not even the television |
| Can make me come down |
| No, I’m not coming down |
| You go ahead |
| And go on television |
| Like passers-by during a sudden downpour |
| Crammed into a doorway’s only shelter |
| The people downstairs crushed themselves |
| Around the eye of the broadcast |
| 'A relative of mine was up there on the roof.' |
| 'outsourcing's to blame as far as I’m concerned' |
| Everyone wanted the microphone |
| To say something on television |
| And while darkness sank into the streets |
| And onto the gates and railings of Turin |
| And the light had gone out on the balcony |
| Where that little boy was |
| I thought for an instant that I saw you |
| Among the others showing solidarity down there |
| But it wasn’t you and I stayed up |
| On the roof camping out |
| Days and nights have gone by since that day |
| And there’s traffic in the streets again |
| Only rarely is there someone who lifts their gaze |
| And watches me watching |
| My comrades have gone, too, and I understand them |
| It isn’t so easy to stay |
| If there’s someone waiting for you |
| If you have someone you can tell things to |
| And so, all alone now, I keep watch on my own |
| And I no longer care about getting down or going back |
| Or even about knowing |
| Who got us fired |
| Unchanging days go by and I don’t count them |
| Let them take away the breath of those who follow them closely |
| I’ll stay here and, for now, make do |
| With a little boy’s wave |