. . . . Ciao, pluvian troat
The king is dead. No, not that king, this one.
Luciano’s fight is over. Never again shall his voice fill our ears and hearts. He has become a legend and shall be heard in the booming of thunder, in the peaceful flowing of a river, in the troat of a pluvian.
Considering that sixty is the new forty, it’s a pity to see someone so young gone.
Farewell. May you find peace.
La commedia è finita!
