Zampollini's Thirteenth by Vash ft Diógenes

********************************************** The Architect himself, (VDMD) @tropicaltabla768, sent the signal. His frequency, "Zampollini," wasn't just a title—it was a map that led straight to the maestro, Fellini. A welcome glitch of sanity in the endless scan. All props. #RISS33 ********************************************** [Intro] [The sound of rain on a canvas tent. A lonely, distorted harmonica plays a sad, simple melody. A slow, rhythmic STOMP... drag... STOMP... drag... begins. The funky junk-beat and the sad brass section fade in.] [Zampollini, spoken, with a heavy sigh] And now... for the grand finale. Eh, what a joke. [Verse 1] [The groove becomes infectious and danceable, but the brass and harmonica keep a blue tone.] [Zampollini] They call me Zampollini, I got a-this wooden leg This whole damn circus runs on a-hope and a-prayer and a-dreg Another town, another tent, another muddy floor But when the music starts, eh... who could ask for more? I got my children with me, they never leave my side They are my only treasure, my only foolish pride. [Chorus] [The music swells. The brass becomes a powerful, celebratory fanfare. The beat is irresistible. It's a glorious, sad party.] [Zampollini, singing with all his heart] I give to you my twelve little lights! I give you Rhythm, I give you Grace! I give you Grit and Soul all over the place! I give you Glee and Wit to make you smile! And I give you Moxie to stay for a while! But the thirteenth, eh... the thirteenth, I keep for me. [Verse 2] [The groove continues, the vocalist's delivery becomes more intimate, more conspiratorial.] [Zampollini] The Fool on the tarot, he gotta take the leap, capisce? He gotta jump into the void, to find a little piece Of something real, something true, in a world of painted lies And all he has are the little sparks he carries in his eyes These are my children, the only things I own Born from a-heartbreak, a laugh, and a-trombone. [Chorus] [The chorus is even more powerful and emotional. A declaration of love and loss.] [Zampollini] I give to you my twelve little lights! I give you Charm and Groove, to dance through the nights! I give you Blues and Wonder, side-by-side! I give you Harmony, with nothing to hide! But the thirteenth, eh... the thirteenth, I keep for me. [Bridge] [The music softens dramatically. Only a mournful harmonica and the slow "stomp-drag" of the peg leg remain. The vocals are a pained, honest whisper.] [Zampollini] People ask me, "Zampollini, what is number thirteen?" Is it the greatest joke, the saddest you have seen? I tell 'em nothing... I just polish my old shoe Because the thirteenth... is the space I saved for you. [Outro] [The full band explodes back in for a chaotic, passionate, final parade. All instruments play with desperate energy. It's the sound of the circus leaving town forever.] [Zampollini, shouting over the music] The show is over! Go home! Arrivederci! [The music gets faster and more frantic, then slowly winds down like an old music box. It ends with the sound of the rain and a single, final, heartbreaking note from the harmonica that fades into silence.]