Se C’era Una Volta L’amore (Ho Dovuto Ammazzarlo)

Song Meaning

The lyrics paint a stark picture of familial change, framed by the narrator's unsettling actions. The opening lines suggest a desire for transformation, a common human impulse. However, this desire takes a dark turn when the narrator states, "Ti presento mia madre / Lei voleva cambiare / Così un giorno le ho fatto le carte." This cryptic phrase, followed by her "starting to fly and sing," implies a forced, perhaps even violent, liberation. The same pattern repeats with the father, who "wanted to change" and "took off his shoes," also beginning to "fly and sing." The repetition of "volare e cantare" (to fly and sing) becomes a chilling motif for these imposed transformations. The central tension lies in the narrator's role as an agent of change for his parents, a role that feels more like destruction than liberation. The biblical allusion to Adam and the serpent, "E da sempre (Da sempre) il serpente (Il serpente) / Ha la meglio su Adamo," hints at a primal struggle where manipulation and corruption are inherent. The narrator seems to see himself as enacting a necessary, albeit brutal, form of 'change,' perhaps to free them from their past or from themselves. The bridge articulates a broader societal malaise: "Ma non sappiamo più scegliere / Non sappiamo decidere / Nemmeno cosa difendere." This suggests a collective inability to navigate life's choices, which the narrator might be attempting to 'solve' for his parents in his own extreme way. The most striking element is the narrator's ultimate confession: "Ho dovuto ammazzarlo" (I had to kill it). This refers to "l'amore" (love) from the title and the repeated motif of "quella musica dolce" (that sweet music) that once brought joy but now "doesn't serve any purpose." The narrator appears to have killed the love, or the memory of it, that once defined his parents, perhaps believing this destruction was the only way to facilitate their "change" or to stop the "sick heart" of a "wasted love." The song uses the imagery of flight and song not as liberation, but as a euphemism for a profound, irreversible act of ending something vital. This lyrical construction is effective because it juxtaposes the gentle imagery of flying and sweet music with the brutal act of "killing love." The narrator's detached, almost clinical recounting of his parents' transformations, coupled with the biblical undertones and the final, stark admission, creates a disturbing psychological portrait. The listener is left to grapple with the narrator's warped perception of love, change, and agency, making the seemingly simple act of "changing" deeply unsettling and thought-provoking.