Le vie affollate del centro città, vetrine addobbate, illuminate da articoli scintillanti.
Intorno a me mendicanti che chiedono l’elemosina e vagabondi avvolti nei cartoni. Penso a quanti trascorreranno le feste in ospedale, magari in condizioni gravi.
È toccato anche a me. So bene cosa significa guardare da una finestra la gente correre con i pacchi in mano, scambiarsi gli auguri, vivere in modo frivolo questo tempo che frivolo, forse, non dovrebbe essere.
Ci si sente estranei, dolorosamente esclusi, irrimediabilmente soli. Mentre l’albero di natale si accende di mille colori, speranze inespresse si affievoliscono silenziose nell’indifferenza della notte.
Per combattere la malinconia comincio a canticchiare.
Ah, look at all the lonely people…
Ah, look at all the lonely people…
Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been.
Lives in a dream.
Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong ?
Father McKenzie writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear.
No one comes near.
Look at him working, darning his socks in the night when there’s nobody there.
What does he care?
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
Ah, look at all the lonely people…
Ah, look at all the lonely people…
Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name
Nobody came.
Father McKenzie wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved.
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
(Ah, look at all the lonely people…)
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
(Ah, look at all the lonely people…)
(Eleanor Rigby, J.Lennon / P.McCartney)
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