[Intro: Sicilian cantastorie male lead, calling the piazza over tamburello and marranzano twang] Signuri, gather in, the cloth is comin' down Eight pictures and a stick, the only show in town [Verse 1: Sicilian cantastorie male lead, pointer tap on every panel, heavy boom drums] Panel one, talìa, a village under smoke Where a mountain full of fire made the old men lose the joke Panel two, a big man, Don Saro, rings on every hand Laughin' at the custom of the dead who walk the land Every year the families leave the sugar and the bread Little marzipan oranges on the stones above the dead Panel three, his lantern and a sack across his back Fillin' up with sugar fruit from every grave along the track [Hook: Sicilian cantastorie male lead, full band, the stick crackin' the cloth] Talìa, picture this, eight panels on the wall Every one is painted true, the big ones and the small Keep your eyes upon the stick and follow where it lands 'Cause the last one on the cloth is still wet on my hands [Verse 2: Sicilian cantastorie male lead, darker, friscaletto crying] Panel four is midnight and the village is asleep And a knockin' at his shutter, slow and heavy, slow and deep Panel five, his doorway, and it's full of little lights Every candle that he robbed from, standin' patient, standin' white Panel six, his table, and they're sittin' in a row Every name upon the stones he emptied out a week ago Panel seven, one chair empty and the sugar on the floor And a trail of little footprints leadin' out the open door [Hook: Sicilian cantastorie male lead, full band, the stick crackin' the cloth] Talìa, picture this, eight panels on the wall Every one is painted true, the big ones and the small Keep your eyes upon the stick and follow where it lands 'Cause the last one on the cloth is still wet on my hands [Verse 3: Sicilian cantastorie male lead, lower, the drums closing in] Now, signuri, you been laughin', you in front, the fella there With the marzipan in your pocket and the sugar in your hair I was watchin' when you did it up the hill at half past three Took an orange off a gravestone 'cause you thought nobody'd see Amunì, it was a joke, you say, a little sugar treat But the dead know every orange and they're countin' every sweet [Bridge: Sicilian cantastorie male lead, pointer tap on panel eight, the stick crackin' once on a face] Panel eight, talìa, I painted it at four Still wet and still shinin', and a face that wasn't there before It's got your nose, it's got your grin, the orange in its hand And behind it, standin' patient, every dead man in the land [Final Hook: Sicilian cantastorie male lead, full band, booming] Talìa, picture this, eight panels on the wall Every one is painted true, the big ones and the small Keep your eyes upon the stick and follow where it lands 'Cause the last one on the cloth is still wet on my hands [End]
