When the railway runs along the coast, right beside the sea, there are many tunnels. Sometimes they’re so narrow that two tracks must draw near to one another to pass through. That’s how a strange love story begins between them.
This is a song I wrote around the year 2000, one of my last. I think it has a good mood. I’ve remixed and partially rearranged it.
You can still hear the warm tone of the Washburn, along with the old Yamaha’s sounds (including the flute). The sax — reworked by me  — is kindly provided by Dropgun Samples.
Still, as always, everything is very handcrafted.

Below is the English translation of the lyrics.

They converged at the tunnel’s mouth,
suddenly parallel —
twins of the railway.
They looked at each other, studied each other,
just enough
to not quite grasp
how much the one beside you knows of you.
They hesitated, thinking of the road behind:
companions in adventure,
but now unsure why.
And then they stared at the night gaping inside the tunnel:
a magnificent promise
to be traveled on the thread of fantasy.

“Inside this darkness, maybe we will never part,
under this shadow, maybe you’ll finally know me,
after this night, who knows where you’ll fall asleep —
perhaps closer to the sea…”

They parted at the tunnel’s edge,
but a narrow wall concealed a silence
charged with jealousy,
shaped like fear — fear of that strange kind of courtesy,
fear of the light,
fear of the end of the tunnel.
“Parallel track,
mirror born of the railway,
traitorous twin,
lover made of parody.
Don’t tell me that
after this darkness we’ll never part,
that under this shadow you’ll finally touch me,
that after this night, who knows where you’ll take me —
perhaps down by the sea…”

And at the end of that masterpiece of engineering,
only one of them
came rushing out of the tunnel;
on instinct, he turned and saw
that the sea was beside him,
and under the sea, the sky,
and beneath the sky — who knows what lies...

“After this darkness, surely we will never part,
inside this shadow, surely you’ll let go,
after this night, I cannot say where you’ll fall asleep —
perhaps closer to the sea…”

----

Confluirono all'ingresso della galleria
improvvisamente paralleli 
gemelli della ferrovia.
Si guardarono, si studiarono quel tanto che
non basta a misurare sino in fondo
quello che hai di fianco cosa sa di te.
Indugiarono, pensarono alla strada dietro di sé:
compagni di avventura,
ma ora non capivano perché.
E poi guardarono la notte spalancata nella galleria:
magnifica promessa
da viaggiare sul filo della fantasia

"dentro questo buio forse noi non ci separeremo mai,
sotto questo scuro tu finalmente mi conoscerai,
dopo questa notte poi non so dire dove ti addormenterai,
forse più vicino al mare ..."

Si congedarono sulla bocca della galleria,
ma parete stretta nasconde silenzio
fatto a carica di gelosia,
fatto a forma di paura di quella stranissima cortesia,
paura della luce
paura della fine della galleria.
"Binario parallelo,
specchio generato dalla ferrovia,
gemello traditore,
amante da parodia.
Non dirmi che 
dopo questo buio noi non ci separaremo mai,
che sotto questo scuro tu finalmente mi toccherai,
che dopo questa notte poi chissà dove mi accompagnerai,
forse giù vicino al mare ..."

E alla fine di quel capolavoro di ingegneria,
di loro uno solo
usciva di corsa dalla galleria;
d'istinto si voltò e vide che
c'era il mare di fianco a sé,
e sotto il mare il cielo,
e sotto il cielo chissa cosa c'è ...

"dopo questo buio certo noi non ci separeremo mai,
dentro questo scuro tu sicuramente ti abbandonerai,
dopo questa notte poi non so dire dove ti addormenterai,
forse più vicino al mare ..."

----

Composed by Michele Ansani (1999)
Posted on SoundCloud: 2025, May 16

Down by the sea [Viaggio di nozze] *

Composed by Michele Ansani (2025).
Saxophone and female vocals (reworked) are courtesy by Daze of Nostalgia and Cinematic Vocals.
Cover picture: René Magritte, The Art of Conversation (1963).

Posted on SoundCloud:  2025 June 1.

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