Along the docks of Genoa, a man with bent shoulders walks,
he is thin and pale, it is as if he hides under his winter coat.
It can get very cold in Genoa, but for him winter is everlasting.
Few people recognize him now, those who do, look away
from this huddled figure of cowardice. But there are also those
who avoid him because they see in him a mirror of themselves,
humiliations and weaknesses buried deep within their soul.
Once he had been a popular captain on a cruise liner loved and
admired by passengers and crew alike, but tragedy struck and
he failed them, shamed his nation and worst of all himself.
“Vada a bordo Cazzo” people shouted at him whenever he appeared
in public. Unforgiven, he walks night streets, he is our ghost.