L’albero ed io
I and my tree

		When my last day on earth will come, after my last glance at the world
		I do not want any stone on my grave, for it too heavy would seem to me
		Look for a tree, a young and strong tree, that’s the right stone for my grave,
		I want to lie even after my death under that sky people say it’s of God.
		And in winter, during the long rest, under my tree I will lie still alive
		As if I were sleeping I’ll trustfully wait till I’ll awake one day or another
		And in spring we’ll hear thousands of voices and that will be our rebirth
		And I willl raise my fingers like boughs to that sky so full of mystery.
		And in summer, if the wind does accept what ev’ry sprout is inviting to do
		We’ll wave leaves like flags in the air and we shall sing songs of life
		And so, together, we’ll live forever, but here on Earth, I and my tree
		Always standing out in summer and winter against that sky people say it’s of God. 
 

Canzone quasi d’amore
Almost a love song

		I won’t look anymore for words that I can’t find
		To tell you the same old things pretending they are new
		Or to tell you, as usual, how I feel empty inside
		Lingering on my thoughts and on my memories
		Playing with my days, with time
		And so, shall I tell you that I have cut my hair
		Or that almost all ports are closed for my ships
		I always speak and speak, but I still have no faith
		I do not want to boast about myself, my life,
		Pressed like toes in tight shoes.
		You know these things, for we all are the same
		Ans we die every day of the same illnesses
		For we all are alone, and we are destined
		To try clumsy flights with our actions and words
		Flying like a turkey would do
		I can’t help it, and you, you can’t do it as well
		I, with my old pride, moved at seeing your breast
		I do pronounce this word almost with shame, you know,
		But we got only one life, we can’t waste it
		With tributes to people or to dreams..
		Every night is the same, every night is different
		And you almost don’t notice the energy you waste
		To look for faces of people who have forgotten you
		Wearing worn out dresses good for any occasion
		Longing for wisdom or sin
		You know these things, you know where the grace
		And deadly tediousness of country life begin
		For we all are the same, we are good and bad,
		We got the same illnesses, we’re cowardly and bold,
		Wise, false, sincere, and fool...
		But where will you go? Where did you already go?
		I give you, if you want, this used boredom
		Keep it in memory, but it’s no capital
		It won’t take much time before you understand
		That it’s not worth another’s boredom
		You see, on the other hand, I still write songs
		And I pay for my home, I pay for my illusions
		Pretending to understand that life is being sleepy
		Or hungry, and meeting, having babies and eating,
		Drinking, reading, loving, or scratching...
 
			
Canzone per un’amica (In morte di S.F.)
Song for a friend (In memory of S.F.)
		
		So long and straight that highway did run
		So did the car at full speed,
		The long, long summer already had begun
		And he did smile beside you,
		And he did smile beside you
		And he did hold the steering wheel so hard,
		So loud the motor did roar,
		You didn’t know that just that day
		Death was waiting for you,
		Death was waiting for you
		You didn’t know what was waiting for you,
		When you are young, you cannot
		Imagine that our fate has come
		To take you by our hand,
		To take you by our hand
		You didn’t know it, but what did you feel
		When the road was running wild
		And when the car did skid from the roadway
		Crashing on another car,
		Crashing on another car
		You didn’t know it, but what did you think
		When you were kill’d in the crash
		And when the clouds from above did fall,
		When life slipp’d out from yourself,
		When life slipp’d out from yourself
		Then only the voice of silence did reign
		Around the wreck of that car
		You were lookin’ for life on the highway
		And death was what you did find,
		And death was what you did find.
		I’d like to know what was all this for,
		Living, suffering, loving
		Spending your days and your whole life
		If so early you had to depart,
		I so early you had to depart
		I want to remember you as you were,
		To think you are still alive,
		That you’re still listening to his and my voice
		That you haven’t ceased to smile,
		That you haven’t ceased to smile.

		
Bisanzio
Byzanthium

		So, even tonight the moon has risen
		Drowned in too red, too vague a colour
		And you can’t see Vesper, it’s growing dark
		The point of the stylus has broken
		What horoscope can you cast tonight, Magician?
		I, Philematios, archiater, mathematician, astronomer,
		Maybe a sage, groping in the dark like a blind man,
		I have not the knowledges, or the courage
		To cast this horoscope, to divine an oracle
		And I stay here waiting for the dawn to come...
		And I must say, I must say
		That I am maybe too old to understand
		That I did loose my faith in no matter what abuse or otium
		Or are the stars changing in the equinoctial nights?
		I, maybe, I, maybe
		Have underestimated this new god, for sure,
		I feel, I see in the stars that something is changing
		But it is only a sign that doesn’t tell me how and when..
		On last ev’ning I was walking almost unconciously
		To the Bosphoreion harbour, where dryland does fade
		In the sea and becomes a vague infinite
		And when you’re back on dryland, another Continent,
		No matter if the sea was blue or green,
		I heard groups of drunkards singing absurd songs,
		With their painted eyes, with their empty glances
		A hippodrome, a brothel, soldiers from the North
		Tell me, Romans and Greeks, where have you gone?
		I heard bloody oaths in Alemannic and Gothic...
		Strange city, absurd city
		Of this emperor who’s the bridegroom of a whore
		Of an immense plebs, of labyrinths, of impiety
		Of barbarians who, maybe, do already know the truth
		Of philosophers, of heterae,
		Hanging between two epochs and two worlds
		My wealth and age decided for a day not far to come
		And then, fate would ask her that she would give me her hand, but...
		Byzanthium’s maybe only an imperscrutable symbol, secret and ambiguous just like this life
		Byzanthium is a world I’m not accustom’d to, Byzanthium is a dream not coming to an end
		Byzanthium, maybe, has never exist’d, and I still don’t know, another night has gone
		Lucifer’s already risen, there’s a blow of wind, it is cold on the tower or it’s my sick age
		I can’t tell life from death, which of the two has gone
		I cover my head with my mantle, I can’t hear anything more
		Falling asleep, falling asleep, falling asleep.


Farewell
Farewell

You smiled, you knew how to do it
Twenty years of age that look’d the same
As your wrinkled sweater o’er a pair of blue jeans,
As the liveliness you were feelin’ inside
Burstin’ out for no reason one day, and cherishing
A thought or a love blossomin’ tho’ you don’t know what it is.
Long days between past and present, strange days
We spent wonderin’ what it was, meetin’ ev’ry night,
I used to call you up ev’ry night
Wearin’ my funny sheepskin jacket,
An ev’ry night I got upstairs like dancin’
And I heard your steps approachin’
And your good mood going pit-a-pat like rain
When you open’d the door, your smile pierced my heart.
And the bar just downstairs where we used to meet,
It was something if we got to talk lookin’ each other
Among friend who were laughin’ and playin’
‘round tables full of bottles of wine,
Stayin’ up late like a rite, till dawn came;
And one night you let me take you away,
Only fog and we both like sentinels
All the town was sleepin’ and had never been so beautiful.
Life was easy then, easy at any time
Guitars, short-lived stories like lightnings
Gettin’ new dreams ev’ry night
Just like pretty children of times changin’
And it look’d ev'ry night like you were challengin' life.
But we found one day, so amazed and happy,
That something deeper had risen,
We thought we had found the secret key of the world.
‘t wasn’t easy lovin' each other, stayin’ together
And plannin’ our future after we went clear,
Both of us imaginin’ "Who will he, she be with now?"
And a thought always hammerin’, always
Our memory shining so hard like a diamond
Lettin’ take us away at every step 
By an emotion we had not fully grasped: 
Meetin’ again was a sort of rebirth
But ev’ry story’s the same illusion and conclusion:
Our sin was thinkin’ a normal story was special.
Now time’s crushin’ and wearin’ us out
In ev’ry day passin’ by or runnin’ away,
Lookin’ at us ironically with scorning glances.
We ain’t heroes anymore, for sure,
Ready to face up to ev’rything together;
We’re like two leaves catchin’ hold of a branch.
Farewell, don’t worry and forgive me
If I have stolen a little of your summer from you
With something so easily broken like past stories.
Maybe this could move your heart one day
But now I think it’s no use, you see,
Ev’ry time you cry 'n' laugh you ain’t cryin' 'n' laughin' with me.
			
			





L’isola non trovata
The island left unfounden
(Inspired by a poem of Guido Gozzano)

		‘Twas the fayrest of alle
		The island left unfounden
		That the Kynge of Spayne
		Was giuen by hys cousin
		The Kynge of Portugal
		With a bulla signed
		And sealed by the Pontyffe
		In Gothic Latyn writynge

		The Kynge of Spayn sailed awaye
		To seeke for that enchantyd island
		But, alas! ‘twas not to be founden
		And no one coude euer fynde it
		Ytt disappear’d fro’ th’forecastlle
		As fast as thowghte
		As iff ytt were a fleetyng dream
		Ytt disappear’d ne’er to be found any more.

		The ancyent maps of the pyrates
		Are poynted with mysterious signes
		The sea men tell it yn a low voyce
		For fear or for supersticyoune
		No one knoweth whether ytt is
		Or ytt’s a dreame 
		Yff you can smelle ytt in the wynde
		Ytt is lyke smoke that you neuer catch...

		Some time ytt doth appear
		Magyque an’ fayre in the miste
		But yff the pilot sayle forth
		Ytt will soare vp flyinge o’r unknown seas
		So ytt wylle turne blue
		The colowre of distaunce
		The Kynge of Spayn sailed awaye.
		 			
		
(Versione in scozzese cinquecentesco)


The Unfownden Eyland


		It was the fayrest ava
		The eyland left unfownden
		That the Kynge of Spayne
		Was giuen by hys cousin
		The Kynge of Portugal
		Wi' a braid letter sign'd
		An' sealed by the Pope
		In Gothic Latyn writynge

		The Kynge of Spayn sail'd awa'
		To seeke for that enchantyd eyland
		But, alas! it wasna to bee fowndyn
		An' nane coude euer fynde it
		Ytt disappear’d frae th’forecastlle
		As fast as thochte
		As gin ytt were a fleetyng dreame
		Ytt disappear’d ne’er to be found onie mair.

		The ancyent maps of the pyrates
		Are poynted with unknowne signes
		The sea men tell it yn a low voyce
		For feir or for supersticyoune
		No one kens whether ytt is
		Or ytt’s a dreame 
		Gin you can sme' ytt in the wynde
		Ytt is lyke smoke that you neuer catch...

		Some time ytt doth appear
		Magyque an’ fayre in the miste
		But gin the pilot sayle forth
		Ytt will soare vp flyinge o’r unknown seas
		So ytt wulle turne blue
		The colowre of distaunce
		The Kynge of Spayn sailed awaye.
 
Amerigo
Amerigo

		He probably got out closing the green door behind his shoulders,
		Someone in the meanwhile had got up to prepare him a barley coffee
		I don’t know if he turn’d, he was no man so easily lost in regret
		Regret is for the rich, and he went on his way without effort
		When I got to know him, my first image was that of an old man
		Or he look’d old to me, but at that time I was still a young child
		I was struck by his bald head and by a mysterious, strange thing
		A truss that made him look like a cop with his gun in the holster
		But he did feel that morning something new towards his family home
		And not to think of it, he had drunken wine for his first time
		Hard words to his father, with hunger and escapes in the background
		And as for his work, he was a prey to his ancient fatalism
		But he was twenty years old, and there was no wrinkle on his front
		But anger and adventure, and some vague ideas of socialism
		He already got on his face the oil smell and saltiness of Le Havre
		He already got in his mouth the dusty smell of blown up mines.
		America was in my thought Roosevelt’s GIs, the Fifth Army,
		America was Atlantis, America was my heart and my destiny
		America was "Life" with its clean-toothed smiles on glossy paper
		America, the phantastic, mysterious dreamland of Donald Duck
		At that time I saw America as a blessed nation, a world of peace,
		A paradise lost in  sharp melancholy, a slow neurosis
		And Gunga-Din and Ringo, the heroes of Casablanca and Fort Apache
		A dream lull’d by the obsessive and incessant sound of Limentra 
		I don’t know what he was feeling when New York appeared from the ship
		A forest of skyscrapers, a town of shit and streets, cries, a castle! 
		And Pàvana, only a memory left in chestnut woods of the Appennines
		English sounded strange to him and pierced him in the breast like a dagger
		And ev’ry day he had to work hard and sweat blood from dawn till sunset
		Years and years like in jail, beer, prostitutes, hard days
		Irishmen and Negroes, Poles and Italians in the coal mines
		Sweat and anthracite in Pennsylvania, Arkansas, Texas, Missouri...
		He came back, as many would do, with his nest-egg and his youth lost in vain
		America was only a corner, America was only a shadowy haze
		America was a hernia, a dirty trick like any that life plays on 
		And saying "boss" for "capo", and "ton" for "tonnellata", "rifle" for "fucile"
		When I got to know him my first image was that of an old man
		As any young man does, I used to pass by without stopping and looking
		And I couldn’t understand, that man was my own face reflect’d in a mirror
		Untill the time will come, that we’ll meet again despite of a’ things
		Untill the time will come, that we’ll meet again despite of a’ things
		Untill the time will come, that we’ll meet again despite of a’ things!


Canzone delle domande consuete
Song of usual Questions

Still here with our questions, still here pretending that time has not the same price
As if past and present had not the same bitter taste with a salty aftertaste.
You don’t know the questions, but I wouldn’t answer venturing too difficult words;
You were beautiful, I know, and how beautiful you are; there’s so much in silence and glances.
If I’m here I don’t know what I am, if you want, what I am and would be, what I’ll be tomorrow...
Don’t tell anything more, if you can, let your eyes and your hands tell it for you.
Please don’t go... go! Don’t stay here...stay! Don’t tell me... tell me about you!
We both know that so many things that seemed so different as an asphalted meadow
Get lost and are swept away by days running like swollen rivers in flood...
And we keep on floundering for nothing, keeping our memories, caressing our age;
Are we stalled or are we cruelly and unconsciously refusing our right to be happy?
If you’re here, what are you? What are you thinking, why? We don’t know, are we here or elsewhere?
Being ev’rything for one moment, but inside you. Getting all things but tomorrow.
Please don’t go...go! Don’t stay here...stay! Don’t tell me.... tell me about you!
And we’re here, naked in this season joining motionlessness with motion;
I can’t tell if a period’s beginning or ending, if it’s raining or not raining
Ready to say "Good Morning", to reply "Fine, thanks", to smile at a hello, to ask How are you?
It doesn’t blow tonight. Are we together, aren’t we? Isn’t there a town outside yet?
If there is, let’s dance there tonight, let’s sing a new song with our friends...
So many years have gone, and I’m still waiting for spring with a lump in my throat.
Please don’t go...go! Don’t stay here...stay! Don’t tell me... tell me about you!
Please don’t go..go! Don’t stay here...stay! Don’t tell me...tell me about us!

Van Loon
A Song for the late Hendrik Willem van Loon

	I daresay Van Loon was a man whose destiny should have been working hard
	Albeit his shoulders and his intelligence could not bear all that;
	He seemed to have been kiss’d by his lucky star
	When he had to go away;
	He’s never gone down into history, we know,
	But it’s easy to be wise after the event
	But nobody has ever ask’d an eagle
	Or a mouse to make a choice;
	Then, one certain day marks one’s future
	Or a war breaks the glass like a stone...
	But I’ve seen mice roaring sometimes
	And other times eagles falling down.

	How many years we’ve to live together with somebody, day after day,
	To understand what he’s got in his mind, what he wants or who he is,
	Explorers of void, of anybody
	Who’s not I or myself;
	Van Loon was alive, yet I believed he was dead
	Or worse than ever, useless owing to the distance
	Between his many myths and the proudness of my youth days
	And my ignorance;
	I didn’t know how much he had been sailing
	O’er the foamy main like Sebastian Cabot
	And that a whalefish had been becoming
	Day after day a sweetwater fish...

	Van Loon, Van Loon
	Tell me what is your burden when your mind
	Keeps quiet and finally lets you be,
	Do you cherish a shadow, or is peace
	Inside you?
	I’d like to know
	What are you seeing when you look around,
	Are they distant sights or are you pleas’d
	With this daylight like a new gift
	To you?

	Van Loon, Van Loon
	What are you thinking in the september mist
	Sketching here and there the Appennines
	Now that you have so much time for thinking,
	But of what?
	Go, old man, go
	Anybody’s his own reasons, don’t be afraid,
	And his own rights to do anything
	Even tho’ we’ll never know what...

	Now Van Loon’s preparing his last journey
	He’s already packed  like any far-seeing man,
	The usual luggage of any simple or wise man
	So very little, or nothing
	He’ll really go down to his own place or his own history
	With all the books that he could not write in his life
	And with old friends long lost in his memories,
	With infinite
	To an everlasting summer, be it even on our mountains,
	But, if he wants, even to that untroubled winter
	When the frozen snow crunched under his hobnailed
	Boots, when he was eighteen.
 
Gulliver
Life and Travels of Sir Lemuel Gulliver, Explorer


	In his long Hours of Rest and Memories 
	That only a certain Age may give
	Sir Lemuel Gulliver us’d to remind the Time 
	When he would sail  o’er the Main
	And smiling as he only doth smile 
	Who doth not fear his Future any more
	He talked to his Grandsons, who listen’d to enchanted Stories
	Of distants Shores, Smells, Giants and Dwarfs,
	Of Crews and Men of Science, of talking wise Horses
	Filling the English Sky with Mirages.
	
	But, if one’s Desires are only Nostalgia
	Or Melancholy of countless, diff’rent Lives
	In his old Friends whom he met along the Way
	In their bewilder’d, dismay’d Souls
	He felt the intellectual Blabbering and the Aphasia
	Of them, who were longing for Understanding
	But, confusing Travels with their Parodies
	And Dreams with the Action of Leaving away
	Of all his Lives he had rov’d under the Sunrays
	Only empty Word Shells were left over.

	Then, when he was recalling the never-ending Series
	Of Travels lost in his memory
	The giant was feeling in his Absent-Mindedness
	The rough & coarse Sense of History
	And in the old Exactness of the Human Project
	Or in his vain, in his limitèd World
	He felt the cruel Loneliness of a Dwarf,
	He felt the cruel Loneliness of a Dwarf
	In the Half-Immensity of Universe;
	Both faces of a Medal shouting at him
	That he won’t learn, that he won’t learn
	Anything at all from Time and Sea.
 
Cirano
The Last Songe of Sir Cyrano
	 
Come on all ye, come on, my paint’d Ladies alle
So prettie and snooty, come on, I can’t bear ye any more,
My Pen it will be driuen into your boundless pride
For with this brand o’ mine I can kill ye at my ease
Come on all ye, come on, ye all paltry poetasters,
Ye uselesse Singers of this calamytous Time
Ye Fools who liue on your spineless Verses
Ye haue Gold and Glory, yet ye are big Nothings
Enjoy your Success, ye Fools, get the most out of it,
Ye certaynlie will not feare your sheepe-like Audience,
God only knoweth where ye flee to escape Taxes
So arrogant, as if ye were the Tops of the Classe,
Hearken! I’m only a poore Cadet o’ Gascoyne
But I swear I can’t stand those who haue no dreame
I won’t be taken in your nerve and tinselries
And, to end my Licence, no Pardon and I touch ye,
No Pardon shall ye haue and I touch ye!
Hearken! Let’s break it off, so come on ye alle,
Ye foole Rabble-Rousers, the Leaders of our Tyme,
Come on all canvassers and second-rate bootlickers
You alle cruel Masters of false Ceremonies,
Who haue so often turn’d Laissez-Faire into art,
Come on, out with the Truth and don’t cheat any longer,
Ye know that some one will burden all Expenses
In this most bless’d Land ravaged by Nonsense,
I know I’m always wrong, but I don’t giue a Damne,
Displeasing is my pleasure, I love to be hated,
With Bullies and Slyboots haue I play’d my whole Lyffe,
And, to end my Licence, no Pardon and I touch ye!
No Pardon shall ye haue and I touch ye!
But when I am alone, with my Nose down to my Feet,
That walks ten Yards befor’ me since I came to Lyghte,
My Anger it does abate, I remember with Payne
That Heauen it forbade me the swete Dreame of Love,
How many I did loue, how many I did haue,
I don’t know, I lost them alle by my Fault or by Fate,
But when I feel the Burden of always being Alone
I shut my Doore and wryte, writynge’s my Solace.
And yet I feel, I do feel that Life’s Loue it exists
With no Sin do I loue, I am so sad yet I loue,
My Roxanne she’s so fair, but, alas! We’re so diff’rent
I can’t talke with her, Ile speake with my Verses!
Ile speake with my Verses!
Come on all ye, vacuous People, let’s break it off right nowe,
Ye Priestes, who sell us alle the Dreame of the Other Worlde,
If there’s, as ye do say, a God in the endless Heauen
Then look into your Hearte, ye’ve betrayed him!
And ye material People, ye who never giue up saying
That God is dead and Man is alone in this Abysme,
Ye looke after your Truth on the Ground like Swines,
Ye may keepe your Acornes, but please leave me my Winges,
Go back home, ye Dwarfes, get oute of my Waye,
For mine immense Rage I need Ettins and Giantes,
I’ve neuer been caught in any Reveal’d Truth,
And, to end my Licence, no Pardon and I touch ye!
No Pardon shall ye haue and I touch ye!
With my Nose and my Brande my Enemies I do touch
But nowe in mine Lyffe I cannot find my Way;
I shoulde not giue up and resign to my Badness,
Thou only canst me saue, thou only and I do write it.
I do feel it must be a place in Heauen or on Earthe
Where we any more won’t suffer and all it will be right,
Don’t laugh, I beg thee, don’t laughe att my Wordes,
For I am only a Shadow, and thou art the Sun, Roxanne!
Yet I wat thou’rt not laughing, I wat, my sweetest Ladié,
And I won’t hide my selfe under Your Balcony,
For I do feel it right now, my pain’s not been in vain
If you loue me as I am,
And I remain your Servant, for euer yours, Cyrano!


Vorrei
I’d like...
 
I’d like to scent the smells of your homeplace
Walking in, out through your home and garden
I’d like to breathe in May hay and salt,
The scents of your sage, of your rosemary,
I’d like to be greeted by all old folks there,
To talk wi’ them about the weather and days bygone
I’d like to be addressed by all your friends
As if we all were true and old mates 
I’d tike to look at stones, paths, homedoors,
At tufts of parietaria that hang down on walls,
At the slime tracks of snails in their shells,
I’d like to catch all glances behind the shutters...
I’d like all this, ‘cos I don’t exist if you aren’t there
And I remain alone with my thoughts, and I...
I’d like to travel always only with you,
To look around all things to be discover’d,
I’d like to tell you, or you to tell me
Why your face som’times lits up, som’times darkens,
To travel back to any place I have seen,
To tell you how anything’s chang’d anyway
And you to explain me what things have chang’d 
And what is the new flavour of universe...
To visit again Istanbul or Barcelona
Or the sea on a solitary beach in Cuba
Or the tops of the Appennines where the North wind
So plainly it does whistle among the trees...
I’d like all this, ‘cos I don’t exist if you aren’t there
And I remain alone with my thoughts, and I...
I’d like to always stay in the same place
To listen at your words, to hear their sound,
To look then at your steps, so fully amaz’d
As if you were a graceful bird soaring about,
I’d like to keep silence when you are talking
Or to fill up the air with my words
Forgetting how fast time it does pass by,
And talking nonsense to disguise my emotions,
I’d like to sing the song of your hands,
To play with you ne’er-ending jeux interdits,
I’d like this day mayn’t change into tomorrow,
I’d like tomorrow may change into infinite...
I’d like all this, ‘cos  don’t exist if you aren’t there,
And I remain alone with my thoughts, and I... 
 
La Locomotiva
The Steam Engine

How was his face like, what was his name, still I don’t know,
His voice when speakin’, his voice when singin’, I don’t know
What was his age at that time, what was the colour of his hair
But his image can I figure in my mind,
All heroes are so young and handsome,
All heroes are so young and handsome,
All heroes are so young and handsome!

Yet I know when all this id did happen, what was his job,
The first year of this cent’ry, a steam engine driver,
The years when ‘twas beginnin’ the holy war of the poor,
The train too seem’d to be the image of progress
Speeding along the whole world,
Speeding along the whole world,
Speeding along the whole world.

And the steam engine it look’d like a bizarre monster
That Man did dominate with his hands and his thought,
It did cover, with his roar, distances that one said would never end
It seem’d he had inside a terrific power,
The same power of dynamite,
The same power of dynamite,
The same power of dynamite.

Another great power was just spreading its wings,
‘Twas words that said All people are equal
And against kings and tyrants it blew up in the streets
The proletary bomb, and the air was lit up
By the light of Anarchy,
By the light of Anarchy,
By the light of Anarchy!

A train pass’d ev’ry by the station where he work’d,
I know it was a long-distance luxury train,
He saw respectable people and thought of velvet and gold,
He thought of the meagre day of his family and friends,
He thought of a train fill’d wi’ lords,
He thought of a train fill’d wi’ lords,
He thought of a train fill’d wi’ lords.

The steam engine it did stand on its track,
The pulsating machine seem’d to be a living thing,
It seem’d to be a young, a young and unbridled steed
Who did bit the rails with his steel muscles,
With the blind force of lightning,
With the blind force of lightning,
With the blind force of lightning.

I don’t know what it happen’d, why he took that decision,
Maybe the century-old rage of nameless generations
That cried for vengeance and blinded his heart,
He forgot his goodness, became merciless,
His bomb was the steam engine,
His bomb was the steam engine,
His bomb was the steam engine!

One day like all others, but maybe still more angry,
He thought he could someway make up for some wrong,
He got on the sleeping monster trying to drive his fear away
An’ before he could think of all what he was doing
The monster was eating up the plain,
The monster was eating up the plain,
The monster was eating up the plain.

The other rain did run unknowing, almost with no haste,
Nobody could imagine he was to run across vengeance,
But to the station of Bologna did the news spread in a flash,
"This is an emergency, you mustn’t waste time,
Someone’s racing madly off ‘gainst a train
Someone’s racing madly off ‘gainst a train,
Someone’s racing madly off ‘gainst a train."

But the steam engine is running, running and running,
The steam is whistling and seems to be a living thing,
And the whistle spreadin’ in the air says to peasants bent at work,
"My brother, don’t fear, I’m runnin’ to do my duty,
May people’s justice walk in triumph,
May people’s justice walk in triumph,
May people’s justice walk in triumph! "

The steam engine’s running faster, faster and faster,
It’s running, running, running towards death
And now nothing can stop the immense force of destruction,
He’s waiting for the crash and for the winding sheet
Of the Great Comforting Lady,
Of the Great Comforting Lady,
Of the Great Comforting Lady.

In history it is written how that run did end,
The engine was switched to a dead-end track,
With its last animal shout the machine did erupt lapilli and lava,
It blew up ‘gainst the sky, then smoke unwrapp’d its veil
They gather’d hime while he was still breathing,
They gather’d him while he was still breathing,
They gather’d him while he was still breathing.

But I like to imagine he’ s still runnin’ the motor,
I like to imagine he’s still making the engine fly,
May the news come again, again one day to us
Of a steam engine that like a living thing
Running like a bomb against injustice,
Running like a bomb against injustice,
Running like a bomb against injustice!