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"Miss, hello, what's your name?" "Toma!"
"Seventy-second for me! Breathless, I await...
It can't be, try again, I am sure they're home ---
They've picked up now.
Well, hello, it's me."

This night is beyond the pale for me.
I don't sleep, "Faster!" I cry.
Why is it that on credit, on coupons,
I am offered the people I love?

"Miss, listen! The seventy-second!
I cannot wait now, and my watch has stopped.
To hell with all the lines --- I'm flying out tomorrow!...
They've picked up now.
Well, hello, it's me."

The telephone for me is an icon
The phone book is a triptych for me
The operator has become a madonna
Shrinking distances for an instant.

"Miss, my dearest, I ask you, please extend it!
You are now an angel --- do not leave your altar, please!
The most important thing is still ahead, you understand me ---
They've picked up now.
"Well, hello, it's me."

What, repairs again on the line?
What, again trouble with the relay?
I don't care --- I will wait --- I agree to
Start each evening from zero again!

"07, hello! Again it's me, Toma!
I can't wait, now, breathless, I await...
Yes, for me!...Of course it's me!...Yes, me!...Of course, they're home!"
"I'm calling now...Please answer..."
"Well, hello, it's me."


It is no longer 1969, and SIM cards and calling cards, email and instant messenger, have replaced being on a first-name basis with your long-distance operator, reached by dialling 07. But still, as communications are "shrinking distances for an instant," "why is it that on credit, on coupons I am offered the people I love?"

(Lately, the lab's Internet hasn't been playing nicely with YouTube, and when I tried listening to this song there, the download kept freezing, ironically, right in the middle of the word "love" in that phrase.)
.

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