Nue (“Naked”) feels like Clara Luciani stepping off the stage and into a quiet room with us. After the rush of performing, she pinches herself to check if fame is real, then asks the mirror: Am I prettier or uglier than the photo on my orange record? By listing the little things she removes—jewelry, eye-liner, rosy blush—she turns undressing into a symbol of peeling away every layer of persona. The song is about craving authenticity, fearing that success might slip away, and wondering who she truly is beneath the spotlights.
Yet the mood is anything but gloomy. There is playful honesty in how she offers different “roles” to her listener—Italian mourner, fearless heroine, wounded soldier—before admitting she gets bored quickly and runs everywhere. Luciani’s warm voice turns self-doubt into an intimate confession, inviting us to accept our own contradictions. The chorus, repeating “Et je viens nue vers toi” (“And I come naked to you”), celebrates the courage of showing up raw and real, trusting that the people who matter will love what they see.