Il Mare D’inverno paints a moody, cinematic picture of an Italian shoreline when the tourists are gone. The waves roll under a grey sky, hotel signs fade, and the only movement comes from wind that whisks away letters, gulls, and the singer’s thoughts. This is a seaside in black-and-white, where the narrator wanders solo, craving a simple coffee and conversation that never arrives. The repeated call mare, mare (“sea, sea”) feels like talking to an old friend who answers only with restless gusts.
Yet hidden in the chill is a quiet promise. Winter will thaw, colors will return, and the beach will buzz again with radios, discos, and new adventures — though perhaps filled with the same old bugie (“lies”). The song becomes a reflection on solitude versus the noisy rush of summer, suggesting that both seasons stir the soul, each in its own way. Listening feels like standing on that empty shore, letting the wind rearrange your thoughts while waiting for warmer days.