Primo tempo

(outside in daylight) window of a house
with the white checkered
(slow cart moving forward) half-filled with sunlight
he's resting his chin a bit
on the edge of the piano
the black and white keys
there's no sound, just noise
(close-up of him) in his eyes are thoughts
locked up searching for colors
(cut) now he runs on a beach
shaped like a scimitar
(inside in daylight) he's sprawled on the couch
holding a guitar
(off-screen) a voice in Neapolitan
echoes of an old song
that walks deep in the sea
and wets his lips
he puts it next to him
(detail) resonating on the strings