My husband makes movies.
To make them he lives a kind of dream
In which his actions aren't always
What they seem.
He may be on to some unique romantic theme.
Some men run banks, some rule the world
Some earn their living baking bread.
My husband, he goes a little crazy
Making movies instead.
My husband spins fantasies,
He lives them, then gives them to you all,
Like Michelângelo he paint his private dome,
but can't distinguish what's his work and what's his home.
Some men sell stocks, some men punch clocks,
Some leap where others fear to tread.
My husband as author and director,
Makes up stories in his head.
Guido Contini, Luisa Contini,
Number one genius and number one fan,
Guido Contini, Luisa Contini,
Passionate woman in love with this man
Long ago,
Many years ago,
once we two were.
Guido Contini, Luisa his lover
Actress with dreams and a life of her own,
Then we had no end of worlds to discover
singing together all night on the phone
Long ago...
someone else ago...
Long ago,
someone else ago,
How he needs me so,
And he'll be the last to know it.
My husband makes movies.
To make them, he makes himself obsessed.
He works for weeks on end without a bit of rest
No other way can he achiev his level best.
Some men read books, some shine their shoes,
Some retire early some stay up to dream and muse
My husband only rarely comes to bed,
My husband makes movies instead,
My husband...makes movies.
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