#chcl3

G: Potresti pulirmi quelle provette con il cloroformio puro?

Io: ok cosa uso?

G: usa pure la pasteur

Io: ma è piccola e poi è di plastica, va a finire che mi si scioglie in mano.

G: allora usa la strippetta.

Io: ma il puntale è sempre di plastica, non si scioglie?

G: no no vai pure.

Tell me of the night, the one we both drank in, 

as mosquitos pulled our skin 

and drank our blood, the one where you looked up at the stars, wishing, 

and wishing that they were the same that saw me.  

And the moon, being a place where we 

could both live on the same side. 

  Without you, he speaks, without you, the weight of this world would crush me down, without you, and I would rise, without you, and be sad, longing. 

  The dark side of the moon is not anything but a thought.  

It surely exists, but not because of us, 

simply because it is held in place by ought.  

  The thought of a singular and remarkable mind.  

He lives at the bottom of the ocean, in a cave, and he talks to the moon.  

No, he talks to the dark side of the moon, for that is his side.  

It is so very hard to love someone who don't love you, so very very very hard.  

He whispers, it will be alright, he whispers.  

He caresses the sky, from his dank cavernous bed, it will be alright.  

And even when there is no moon to be found, it will be alright.  

Without you, he speaks, without you, the weight of this world would crush me down, without you, and I would rise, without you, and be sad, longing.  

If that is all there is, and without you am I for here doomed to live, wherein this existence, without you, then I suppose I must, without you.  

But as long as I might and may and would and could I will tell you, it will be alright.

Without you