“Paracetamolo” is Calcutta’s witty indie-pop way of saying that love can feel just like a fever. He swaps the classic image of roses and moonlight for everyday objects: a double dose of Tachipirina 500, the neon glow of the Duomo di Milano, a rattling ride on the metro or train. Each reference acts as a playful metaphor for the rush of infatuation. The moment his crush squeezes his hand, his heartbeat shoots to mille and he needs an emotional painkiller to keep the symptoms under control.
Behind the humor sits a relatable tension. Promised visits never happen, real apartments are “not Versailles,” and the singer looks for quick remedies to calm his racing heart while still hoping the relationship will actually show up. “Paracetamolo” is therefore a bittersweet anthem: it celebrates the dizzy high of modern love while admitting that sometimes all we really get is a brief dose of relief, just enough to make it to the next chorus.