Aria sweeps you onto an elegant dance-floor where two strangers lock eyes and, for a heartbeat, the crowded room dissolves. He is dazzled by her effortless grace—“l’eleganza non si impara”—and she feels the pull of destiny, as if the world has suddenly shrunk just to fit the two of them. Candle-bright eyes, a moon that looks like a silver sphere, and a hush of violins create a cinematic atmosphere that makes falling in love feel inevitable.
Yet beneath the glitter lies a warning. The singer admits he is as fickle as a piuma—a feather—sometimes drifting away for weeks on end. He offers a passionate waltz, not a fairy-tale ending, reminding her that fortune, not promises, decides what happens next. “Aria” becomes a playful confession of magnetic attraction and restless freedom, celebrating the thrill of the moment while acknowledging that love, like air, can never be held for long.