La guerra di Piero
Fabrizio De AndréINGLESE / ENGLISH [2] | |
PETER’S WAR You lie slain, in a cornfield sleeping, and neither the rose or the ladytulip are watching you in the shadow of ditches, but thousands of blood-red poppies. "Along the banks of this country stream I’d like to spy the silver pike swimming, and not a suite of soldiers’ corpses brought with the stream, like dead branches." You said so, and it was a cold winter, and, just like others, you’re bound to hell marching so sadly to your sad duty, the wind’s spitting snow in your face. Stop your steps, Peter, stop your steps now! Allow the wind to fondle your body, you bear the voice of all the fallen who gave their lives for a wooden cross. But you didn’t hear them, and time passed by with the seasons at a java step and so you were ready to cross the border in a warm and bright spring day. And walking on shouldering your soul you noticed a man down there in the valley walking in the same sad mood as you but with a uniform of a different colour. Shoot him, Peter, shoot at him now! Shoot again to make sure he’s dead, until he falls dead to the ground and covers his own blood deadly wounded. "And if I aim at his front or at his heart I’ll leave him only the time to die, but I shall have plenty of time to look in the eyes of a dying man." And while you are so kind to him, he turns around, sees you and gets frighten’d; he brings his rifle to firing position and doesn’t repay you for your favour. You fell to the ground without even a cry and you noticed in no less than a moment that you’d not have enough time to beg pardon for all your sins. You fell to the ground without even a cry and you noticed in no less than a moment that your life had be put an end, and that you’d never come back home. "Oh Jenny darling, to die in May one needs much and maybe too much courage. Oh Jenny darling, I’d like best to go to hell in a cold winter day." And while the corn was listening to your words you held your rifle clenched in your hands, you held your words frozen in your mouth that would never have melt in the sunrays. You lie slain, in a cornfield sleeping, and neither the rose or the ladytulip are watching you in the shadow of ditches, but thousands of blood-red poppies. | PETER'S WAR You lie buried in a barley field There's no rose, and not a tulip Watching on you from the ditches But it's a thousand of red poppies "Along the banks of my brook I want silver trouts to swim Not soldiers' corpses Carried by the flow" That's what you said, and it was in winter While, with the others, heading to hell Marching sadly, as those who have to Wind was spitting snow in your face Stop, Peter, stop for a moment Let the wind come to you You carry the voices of those who fell Who gave his life got a cross in return But you didn't listen, and time passed And so did seasons, step after step And you finally got to the border In a beautiful spring morning And you were marching, your soul on your shoulders When you saw a man from the distance Walking, in your very same mood Clothed in different colours Shoot him, Peter, shoot him now As you do it, shoot him again Until you see him bloodless Fall on his own blood And if I hit his head or heart He'll have no time but for dying But I'll have my time for watching Watching the eyes of a dying man And while you behave so kindly to him He turns, sees you and fears And, his hands on his rifle, He doesn't return your kindness You fell on the ground without a moan And you knew at once That your life was ending that day And there was no coming home "Jenny, darling, dying in May That takes way too much courage Sweet Jenny, straight to hell I'd have rather gone in winter" And as the barley listened Holding your rifle in your hand Holding words within your mouth Too cold to melt in the sun You lie buried in a barley field There's no rose, and not a tulip Watching on you from the ditches But it's a thousand of red poppies |