Mourir pour des idées
Georges Brassens| La versione inglese (della versione italiana di Fabrizio De André) ... | |
| DIE FOR IDEAS Die for ideas, that's a great idea. Me, I nearly died because I didn't have any. Because those who had the ideals, an overwhelming crowd, Fell on me yelling "Slaughter". They were able to convince me, and my cheeky Muse Admitted she was wrong, and rallied to their cause. Just maintaining a tiny suspicion of doubt. Die for ideas, OK, but just make it a slow death, OK, a slow death. Judging that there's no danger in staying at home, Let's meander on the road to the other world. Because if you force the pace, you end up dying For ideals which are out of date tomorrow. Now if there's one thing that's really bitter and upsetting When you offer up your soul to God, its realising That you took the wrong turning, got hold of the wrong idea. Die for ideas, OK, but just make it a slow death, OK, a slow death. The Saint Johns with mouths of gold who preach martyrdom Usually manage to hang around on earth. Dying for ideas, let's be clear about it, That's their reason for living, so they're not going to lose it. In all the different camps you can see people who take the place Of Mathusalah when it comes to longevity. I conclude from this that they must say to themselves, aside, "Die for ideas, OK, but just make it a slow death, OK, a slow death." For ideas demanding the ultimate sacrifice, Sects of every shade offer the sequel, And the question arises in the minds of novice victims: "Die for ideas, that's fine, but which ones?" And as they all resemble each other, When he sees them approaching under their big banners, The wise man hesitates, turns around the tomb. Die for ideas, OK, but just make it a slow death, OK, a slow death. Now, if it just needed a few hecatombs For everything to change, everything fall into place, After so many "great eves" when so many heads fall, We would already have reached Paradise on earth. But the golden age is constantly put off to the Kalends, The gods are always thirsty, have never had enough, And its death, death again and again. Die for ideas, OK, but just make it a slow death, OK, a slow death. O all you firebreathers, o all you good apostles, Go and die first, we stand back and let you through. But please, I beg you, let the rest of us get on with living, Life is just about our only luxury down here. For after all, Death is sufficiently vigilant, He doesn't need anyone to hold his scythe for him. Let's have no more macabre dances around the scaffold. Die for ideas, OK, but just make it a slow death, OK, a slow death. | DYING FOR SOME IDEAS Dying for some ideas - the idea is fascinating. I almost died without ever having had it, because whoever had it, a crowd of people, yelling “Long live death” it just fell on me. They convinced me, and my insolent muse, renouncing her mistakes, adhered to their faith, telling me on the other hand in private we are dying for some ideas, well okay, but a slow death; well okay, but a slow death. Taking advantage of not having a super delicate heart, we’re going to the other world loafing around a bit, because forcing the pace, it happens that one dies for some ideas they no longer have the following day. Now if there’s something bitter, distressing, it is that of understanding in the final moment that the right idea was a different one, a different movement. We’re dying for some ideas, well okay, but a slow death, but a slow death. The apostles on duty who appreciate the martyrdom have been predicting it often for ninety years at least. Dying for some ideas will be the occasion for saying it, it's their purpose in life, they don’t know how to do without it. And under every flag we see them exceeding good Methuselah in longevity. On my behalf they tell themselves in complete privacy we are dying for some ideas, well, okay, but a slow death; well, okay, but a slow death. To whoever goes then seeking a less spurious truth, every type of sect offers original motives, and the choice is awkward for the novice victims. Dying for some ideas is very beautiful, but for which ones? And the old man who brings already the flowers for the tomb, seeing them come behind the huge banner, thinks, “Let’s hope sincerely that they’ll arrive late.” We’re dying for some ideas, well okay, but a slow death; well okay, but a slow death. And you spitfires, you new saints, be the first to kick the bucket, we give way to you. But please let the others live, life is, roughly speaking, their only luxury. Even more so that the carcass is already rather alert. there's no need to hold the scythe, it’s enough with the garrotes in the name of peace. We are dying for some ideas, well okay, but a slow death; well okay, but a slow death. |
