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Fabrizio de André was born in Genoa on 18. February 1940. His father welcomed him to the world by playing Gino Marinuzzi's "Country Waltz" on the home grammophone. Twenty-five years later, Fabrizio de André would set his "Waltz for a Love" to Marinuzzi's waltz tune. When the war broke out, the De Andrés had to seek refuge in a country farm near Revignano d'Asti, in Piedmont. Fabrizio's father, who was an Anti-fascist and was pursued by the police, joined the Maquis. In 1945 the De Andrés came back to Genoa. Fabrizio went to the primary school, first at the Marcellian Sisters' School and, later, at the Cesare Battisti public school. He attended then the Gymnasium and, after his school-leaving examination, he enrolled in the Law faculty of the University of Genoa; but he did not graduate (he gave up when only six examinations were left). Fabrizio de André had a strong feeling for music; he practised first the violin, then the guitar, and joined a number of local jazz bands (jazz was his "first love"). His career as a songwriter and performer began in the late fifties, under the strong influence of the French chansonniers, especially Georges Brassens (1921-1981), whose songs he admirably translated into Italian and sung together with his first own songs. In 1958 Fabrizio de André recorded his first two songs, "Nuvole Barocche" ("Baroque Clouds") and "E fu la notte" ("Then night came"); in 1962 he married Puny Rignon, a Genoese woman nearly ten years older, and the same year, the couple had their first and only son, Cristiano, who would follow his father's steps and become a musician and a songwriter. In the following years, Fabrizio de André writes a number of songs which make him known by a larger public and become soon his "classics": "La guerra di Piero"("Peter's War"), "La ballata dell'eroe" ("A ballad for a Hero"), "Il Testamento" ("The Will"),"La Ballata del Michè" ("The Ballad of Poor Mike"), "Via del Campo" ("Girls from the Narrow Lane"), "La canzone dell'amore perduto" ("Song for Love Lost"), "La città vecchia" ("Downtown"), "Carlo Martello ritorna dalla battaglia di Poitiers" ("Charles Martel on his way back from Poitiers", written together with his friend Paolo Villaggio), and "La canzone di Marinella" ("A song for Marinella"). In 1968, "Marinella" was recorded and sung by one of the most celebrated Italian singers, Mina, and its author was greeted as the most important Italian "cantautore". Fabrizio de André's first LP, "Volume I", was issued a short time later (1968), followed by "Tutti morimmo a stento" ("All of us died with pain") and "Volume II"; both LP's reached soon the top of the Italian hit-parade. In 1970 Fabrizio de André wrote "La Buona Novella", a concept album based on Christ's life as told in the Apocrypha. This album, and especially the song "Il Testamento di Tito" ("Titus' Will"), in which one of the thieves crucified together with Jesus confutes violently the Ten Commandments, was a serious "blow". Fabrizio de André, who was an atheist and an anarchist, had written a number of songs (like "Preghiera in Gennaio", "A Prayer in January", and "Si chiamava Gesù", "His name was Jesus") in which he showed a Christian-like spirit, and these songs were also sung in parishes and churches; "Titus' Will" was not. In 1971 Fabrizio de André wrote another celebrated concept album, "Non al denaro, non all'amore, né al cielo" ("Not to money, neither to love or heaven"), based on Edgar Lee Master's "Spoon River Anthology"; the LP was introduced by an interview to Fernanda Pivano, the first Italian translator of the "Anthology" and one of Cesare Pavese's most intimate friends. The name of Fabrizio de André began to be associated with literature and poetry, and some of his songs found their way in school books. In 1973 Fabrizio de André wrote his most "political" album, "Storia di un Impiegato" ("Story of a White-collar"); the following year, De André issued "Canzoni" ("Songs"), a collection of his translations from Georges Brassens, Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan. The album also included a number of his old songs from the sixties. In 1975 Fabrizio de André (who, in the meanwhile, had divorced his wife Puny and started a relationship with the folksinger Dori Ghezzi) wrote together with another famous Italian songwriter, Francesco de Gregori, his "Volume VIII". With this album, De André breaks off with his "tradition" to find new ways for his poetry and music. The lyrics show how deep is the influence of modern poetry on De André’s work. 1975 marks a real change in De André’s life: he begins to perform a series of memorable concerts (after his first performances of the early sixties, he had always refused to appear in public except for a couple of TV broadcastings), and plans to move to Sardinia together with his new love. To this purpose, he buys the Agnata homestead, near Tempio Pausania, in Northern Sardinia, and devotes himself to farming and cattle breeding. In 1977 the couple has a daughter, Luisa Vittoria (called "Luvi"), the following year Fabrizio De André issues a new LP, "Rimini". Most songs included in this album are written together with a young Veronese songwriter, Massimo Bubola. 1979 is another milestone in De André’s life. The year begins with a series of famous live concerts from which a double LP is drawn; De André is accompanied by one of the most renowned Italian pop bands, the Premiata Forneria Marconi (PFM). At the end of August, a most striking episode occurs: Fabrizio de André and Dori Ghezzi are kidnapped for ransom by a gang of Sardinian bandits and held prisoners in the inaccessible Supramonte mountain. The couple is released four months later; no ransom is paid. When the bandits are arrested by the police, De André, though called to witness before the Court, refuses to denounce his kidnappers and declares his own solidarity with them. "They were the real prisoners, not I". This declaration is a good specimen of De André’s way of thinking. This dramatic episode, and the hard life of the Sardinian people, gave him inspiration for his following album. The album is anonymous, but, from the image of a Redskin appearing on the cover, the mass-media call it "The Indian". In 1984 Fabrizio de André turns to his native Genoese dialect and writes, together with Mauro Pagani, one of his most celebrated albums, "Creuza de mä". The songs are a tribute to traditional music from all Mediterranean countries. The album is awarded an unending series of prizes and is greeted as "the best Italian album of the eighties". In 1989 Fabrizio de André marries Dori Ghezzi; the following year a new album is issued, "Le Nuvole" ("Clouds"), which includes two more songs in the Genoese dialect, one in the Gallurese dialect of Northern Sardinia ("Monti di Mola") and one in the Neapolitan dialect ("Don Raffaè"). A new series of triumphal live concerts follows, from which a double LP ("1991 Concerts") is drawn. In 1992 Fabrizio de André starts a new series of live concerts, performing in a number of theatres for the first time. Fabrizio de André’s last original album, "Anime Salve" ("Saved Souls"), was issued in 1996. It is a sort of "spiritual will", including songs as "Khorakhané" (dedicated to the Rom people), "Disamistade" (which has been translated into English and sung by the Walkabouts) and "Smisurata preghiera" ("An Infinite Prayer"), based on the Argentinian writer and storyteller Álvaro Mutis’ "Topman Maqroll’s Saga". Fabrizio de André also sung a Spanish version of this song. In 1997 Fabrizio de André started a new series of theatre concerts and a new song collection, called "M’innamoravo di tutto" ("I fell in love with everything") is issued. This tribute album includes a version of "La canzone di Marinella" in duet with Mina. The "Anime salve" concert tour goes on up to the late summer of 1998, when Fabrizio de André must stop at the first symptoms of a serious disease which is later diagnosed as cancer. Fabrizio de André dies in Milan on 11. January, 1999, at 2:30 am. Two days later, he is buried in his native town, Genoa; the ceremony is attended by an immense crowd of about 10,000. Fabrizio de André rests in the monumental Staglieno cemetery, in the De André family chapel. |
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They call’d her Rosemouth, She did put love, she did put love They call’d her Rosemouth, She did put love above all things. No sooner had she arrived To the station of Sant’Ilario When ev’rybody realized at first sight She was no missionary at all. Someone makes love out of boredom, Someone other chooses it for her job; Neither of the two things for Rosemouth: She made love out of passion. But, as you know, boredom often leads To gratifying one’s own lust Without enquiring if he, who’s lusted after Is still free or a married man. So, hearken! With her deed and actions Did Rosemouth arouse day by day Grapes of wrath of the little puppies She kept on stealing their bones from. But the wives of a small village Aren’t so cute, as you may suppose: Up to that time their only reaction Was hurling insults at Rosemouth. You know that people give good advice Feeling as Jesus Christ in the Temple, You know that people give good advice If they can’t set a bad example. So, and old woman still unmarried, Without children, without any lust, Took the trouble, and, I’m sure, the pleasure To give all ‘em a right piece of advice: So, she addressed with witty words All that bunch of deceived wives: "This love stealth shall be punished", She said, "By the Police Force". And they all went to the Police Station And shouted without weighing their words: "That bitch already got more clients Than a farmer’s cooperative." So four gendarmes, four gendarmes came With plumed hats, with plumed hats, So four gendarmes, four gendarmes came Well armed, with their plumed hats. You know policemen aren’t renowned For having tender heart, for sure; But that time they took her to the train Not so willingly, I assure. All male villagers were there, including The Police Chief and the sexton, All male villagers were there With weeping eyes, bearing placards To say goodbye and bon voyage To Rosemouth, who for short time Without pretension, without pretension Had brought love into that village. Someone had written in black On a yellow placard: "Goodbye, goodbye, Rosemouth! Spring is leaving us with you." But a piece of news like that Needs no newspaper, as you may suppose: Just like an arrow flung by a good bowman It spread so rapidly in the wind So, at the next station there were Much more people than when she had left: One blows her a kiss, one throws flowers, One books her for a couple of hours. Even the Priest, not disregarding Among burials and extreme unctions The short-lived pleasure of beauty, Wants her to follow the procession. With Our Lady in the front row And Rosemouth just behind The priest is walking through the village With both profane and sacred love! CHARLES MARTEL (ON HIS WAY BACK FROM THE BATTLE OF POITIERS) (Carlo Martello ritorna dalla battaglia di Poitiers) Kynge Charles was on Hys Way backe from War, His Countree welcometh Hym Wreathynge Hym with Laurel, In this most warme of Springes The braue Victor’s armowr Doth shyne in the Svn. The Kynges Helmet was stayned With the red Blvde of bothe The Prynce and the Moor; Now, it is Love’s Lvst that maketh Charles svffer greater Payne Than Hys bodilie Woundes. "Alas! War doth quench the Winner’s Thyrste of Glory And doth appease Hys Longyng for Honowre, Yet He hath noe fuckynge Chaunce of makynge Loue, Then, he who imposeth the Chastitie Belte On Hys swete Spovse, he may well rvn the Riske Of loosynge the Keye when the Battle is ragyng!" Thvs is complainyng the Christian Kynge, Encirclyd bye swete Flowers Whyle wheat boweth at Hym; The Mirror of a clear Sprynge of Water Reflecteth the Prowd Victor Well saddlyd on Steedes Back. So suddenlie doth appeare in the Water A wonderfvlle Ymage, Lyke a Symbol of Loue, Betwyxte her longe, fayre Braydes Her naked Breastes do bothe Shyne in the warme Svn. "No fayrer Ymage haue I neuer sene! Noewhere is svch a fayre maiden to bee met!" Saide Kyng Charles dismountyng qvicke fro’s Steed; "Ye prowde Knyghte, I warne Ye! An other Man doth enjoye mine Beautie. Ye shoude quench Yowre Thyrste to an easyer Sprynge!" Surprysyd by svlche sharpe Wordes And feelynge laughëd at Kynge Charles hee did stop; But Hunger hadde more Powre on Hym than Honovr, And tremblyng dyd the Kynge Slippe his Helmet off. This was the Kynges secret Weppyn That Charles so oftyn vsed When He sawe noe Waye throvgh: A big Nose apperyd to the Mayden, And then a Goates Face, But He was His Majestee. "Yf Ye were not my Kynge and Loverd", -Charles taketh off Hys heauye Sworde- "I woude not hyde my Desyre of takynge to mine Heels; Bvt as Ye are my Sovereygn Liege," -Charles slyppeth off Hys armowr so bryghte- "I wulle yielde my selffe withovtten Shame." The Kynge was a valyaunte Knyghte: He dyde deserue all Honowrs In that Situacyoun too; And when he had finisshyd Hys Dvtie He tryde so vncertaynlie To get on Hys Horsse agayne. The Mayden stoppyd Hym in noe Tyme And a Bill handyd shee to Her Majestee: "Good, jvst ‘coz Ye are my Lorde and Kynge, Ye owe me fyue Powndes, And ‘tis a specyal Pryce." "Howe can ytt bee, the Lorde damne ytt alle, That all adventures in thys gracyous Kyngedome Ende vp regvlarlie wyth payinge a Whore? Damn, their Billes too are incresyd greatlye: I can remember that beffore I lefte Three Powndes were a fayrlye acceptable Pryce!" Then he prouyd to bee a Mother fvcker, and He got on Hys Stede As qvicke as Lyghtenynge; Whyppynge the poor Horsse to Deathe Among Wisteriae and Elders The Kynge dyd disappeare. Kynge Charles was on Hys Way backe from War, His Countree welcometh Hym Wreathynge Hym with Laurel, In this most warme of Springes The braue Victor’s armowr Doth shyne in the Svn! THE FISHERMAN (Il Pescatore) In the uncertain shadow of sunset A Fisherman was dozing off, His face was streak’d all along With something just like a smile. A man came running to the shore, His eyes so big, just like a child’s, His eyes were fill’d with pain and fear As if reflecting some adventure. He ask’d the old man for some bread, "I am in haste and am so hungry"; He ask’d the old man for some wine, "I am so thirsty and am an outlaw." The old man he did open his eyes Without e’en looking ‘round himself; He simply gave his bread and wine To a man who was so thirsty and hungry. No longer than one instant’s warmth, Then he fled away in the wind; Before his eyes the sun was shining, Behind his back, an old man sleeping. Behind his back, an old man sleeping And memories of pains endur’d, Memories of a past springtime In a yard, playing in the shadow. Two gendarmes came dressed in arms, Well mounted on their horses’ back; They ask’d the old man if he’d seen Someone pass by him on the shore. In the uncertain shadow of sunset A Fisherman was dozing off, His face was streak’d all along With something just like a smile His face was streak’d all along With something just like a smile. PASSERS-BY (Le Passanti) This song is for any woman Who’s been thought of with love, anytime In an instant of wand’ring thoughts: For her, whom you just saw one time You hadn’t time, yet you were longing For spending hundred years beside her. For her, who disappear’d so quickly That you almost had to imagine her moving From a balcony to a secret room; And you like to remember her smiling -She wasn’t smiling but in your own mind, And your happiness’s fading away. For your long-lost fellow trav’ller, Her eyes were so beautiful a landscape That your travel did not seem so long; No other man could better understand her, Yet she got off, and you did not follow her, Nor did you even touch her soft hand. For all them, who are not free And spend their life, in sad disenchantment, With a man who has changed too much; They let you reach - o nonsense, o folly! The highest peaks of melancholy, Of hopeless desperation. O, images! O, happy daydreams of one instant! So soon you will disappear in a crowd And be replac’d with fresh memories; However happy you may be now or later You won’t recall, or recall but seldom All what you have seen on your way. But if you don’t find comfort any more In life, you will not forget so easily The happiness you once perceiv’d; All the sweet kisses, you durst not give to her, All the sweet hopes, now vanish’d in the air, All the eyes you’ve seen no more. You will then feel how solitude’s bitter, And you will learn the practice of regret, A way of letting your own life flow by; You will regret the lips and the eyes Of all beautiful passers-by Whom you could not make stay... HAIL TO THEE, MARY (Ave Maria) So Thou art walking, Mary, among the crowd Gathering ‘round when Thou passest them through, And Thou art not so bother’d by their looks, Now that Thou wilt become a mother, soon. Thou know’st, Thou wilt be crying in one hour, Then Thou wilt hide Thy smile with Thy hand; The borderline bewtixt joy and pain On Thy bright face is so uncertain. Hail to Thee, Mary! Thou’rt a Woman, now; Hail to all Women, Mary, hail to them! They’re women for one day, for a new love, Be he rich, poor, humble or the Saviour. Women for one day, then mothers forever In that long season indifferent to seasons. MY SWEETHEARTS (Misamour) (XIV Century Traditional / D. Arneodo) Fabrizio De André, voice Franco Mussida: classic guitar Devi Arneodo, voice Sae monie bonny pines i’ my father’s yard, Sae monie bonny pines i’ my father’s yard, My father’s yard, my sweethearts, i’ my father’s yard O quayle bonie quayle whare’s thy nest? O quayle bonie quayle whare’s thy nest? Whare’s thy nest, my sweethearts, whare’s thy nest? ‘Tis nae up o' the mountain, ‘tis in the plain, ‘Tis nae up o' the mountain, ‘tis in the plain, ‘Tis in the plain, my sweethearts, ‘tis in the plain. O quayle bonie quayle what is therin? O quayle bonie quayle what is therin? What is therin, my sweethearts, what is therin? Four bonie lasses an’ wi’ me they wad be five, Four bonie lasses an’ wi’ me they wad be five, They wad be five, my sweethearts, they wad be five. The ane gaes aifter water, thaither aifter wine, The ane gaes aifter water, thaither aifter wine, Gaes aifter wine, my sweethearts, gaes aifter wine. Anither lulles us a’ to quyete sleip, Anither lulles us a’ to quyete sleip, To quyete sleip, my sweethearts, to quyete sleip. Ile tak my cross-bowe, wull slay them a’, I strucke my true luve an’ I slew her An’ I slew her, my sweethearts, an’ I slew her. Gin I gae thro’ the toune I wull be hang’d, Gin I wad cross the Roune, I wad be drown’d, I wad be drown’d, my sweethearts, I wad be drown’d. FATHER’S SONG (Canzone del padre) "Do you want to leave to your own eyes Only dreams that won’t awaken you?" "Yes, Your Honour, but I want greater ones." "There’s a place, there, left by your father. You’ll only have to stand on the bridge And observe the other ships sailing by; You lead the smallest ones to the river, The biggest ones, they know where to sail." So, I have turned into my father I had killed in a previous dream; The Honourable Court did give me trust: The same motive for my release and my crime. And now Bert, the laundress’s son, A schoolmate of mine, is learning to count On cricket’s antennae, and he never Blows soap bubbles when he wants to play. He was burying his mother in a wm-dump Wrapp’d up in a sheet, like a true heroine; He stopp’d one moment and told the Almighty one To keep on minding His own business. So, he fled away for fear of going rusty, Yesterday’s news report he’s rusted to death; Sextons often pick up rusty splinters ’mong people who let themselves be shower’d by rain. I’ve invested my money and my affection, A bank and a family do give safe incomes; I discuss about love with my wife, Our distance does not involve each other’s fear. Takin’ her’s gettin’ harder and harder, Men come, there’s one who’s leaner than the others With a suitcase and with two passports, Her eyes show she’s so eager to talk. Fuck, I pay the police just for this, Her eyes show she’s my woman, damn it! The lean man’s hands are always in motion, Trinkets ’n’ a travel order I saw in his case. His face is no more that of a new drug addict, He’s my youngest son, incidentally born; He stumbles over his own worn out rags, He doesn’t even get up if he falls to the ground. All my alibis, they’re catching fire, Guttuso’s painting still to be expertised; Now even my bed is envelop’d in flames, These are dreams that won’t make me awaken. Your Honour, you’re a son of a bitch, I wake up suddenly and dripping with sweat; Wait for me, now, to jump out of this nightmare, We’ll meet again, next time it won’t be any dream. GIRLS IN THE NARROW LANE (Via del Campo) There’s a girl in the narrow lane, Her eyes, so big and green as leaves, All the night long stands on the threshold, Always off’ring you the same rose. There’s a beauty in the narrow lane, Her lips, so pale as pale’s a dewdrop, Her eyes, so grey as grey’s the pavement,. Out of her steps, there come out flowers. There’s a whore in the narrow lane, Her eyes, so big and green as leaves, If you want her love, then you only Have to gently take her by the hand. You think you are going far away She looks at you with a bright smile, You won’t believe that paradise Is just upstairs at the first floor. A fool goes to the narrow lane To tell her, o, please, marry me! To watch her going up the stairs Till the balcony door is closed. Laugh and love if love it does answer, Cry aloud if it does not hear you, Nothing grows out of precious diamonds, Out of dung, the flowers do grow, Nothing grows out of precious diamonds, Out of dung, the flowers do grow. TITUS’ WILL (Il Testamento di Tito) First, Thou shalt have no God but me. This often made me reflect, Strangers who came from East unto me Said ‘twas the very same thing; Though they believ’d in a different god, No harm have they done to me, Though they believ’d in a different god No harm have they done to me. Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord, The name of thy God, in vain. Nay, when a dagger did pierce my side My pain and thy Name did I shout; But the Lord, maybe, He was busy or was tir’d And did not hear all my pain, But He was, maybe, so distant and tir’d, I took, really, His name in vain. Thou shalt honour thy Father and Mother, Thou shalt honour their stick, too, And kiss the hand that broke your nose When you asked them them for some food; When my father’s heart ceased to beat I did not feel any grief, When my father’s heart ceased to beat I did not feel any grief. Thou shalt hallow the Lord’s holy days, ‘twas easy for a thief like me To get into temples resounding with psalms Of slaves, of their masters and all; Yet I’ve never laid bound to an altar in chains To be slaughter’d like a sheep, Yet I’ve never laid bound to an altar in chains To be slaughter’d like a sheep. Fifth commandment: Thou shalt not steal, And this must I have kept, for sure, When I cleanëd out the pockets and purses Of many an authorised thief, But I was an outlaw and robb’d in my own name, The others, in the name of the Lord, But I was an outlaw and robb’d in my own name, The others, in the name of the Lord. Thou shalt not commit impure acts, That is, do not waste your semen; Get a woman pregnant anytime you love her, So you will be a man full of faith; Then lust disappears and the child remains And many do starve by hunger; I’ve often confused my pleasure with love But I have created no sorrow. Seventh commandment: Thou shalt not kill If you want to ascend into Heaven; Well, see how this holy Commandment of God Was nail’d thrice to a wooden cross; Look at this Nazarene dying in pain And a thief’s dying the same death, Look at this Nazaren dying in pain And a thief’s dying the same death. Thou shalt not bear false witness, yes,. And you will help them kill someone; They all know the Laws of God by heart But always forget their forgiveness; I’ve perjured by God and my word And I don’t regret it, I don’t, I’ve perjured by God and my word And I don’t regret it and won’t. Thou shalt not covet other people’s things, Nor lust after another man’s wife; Go tell it to those most lucky of men Who do have a woman and wealth, In other men’s beds, in the warmth of love I did not feel any regret, Yesterday’s envy isn’t all over yet, Today I envy you your life. But now that the evening is drawing near To release my eyes from pain, And the sun is slipping down beyond the dunes To violate other nights, I’m looking, mother, at this dying man, Mother, I’m now feeling grief, In the compassion not yielding to grudge Mother, I am learning to love. LOVE COMES, LOVE GOES (Amore che vieni, amore che vai) So many days we spent, after the wind running Asking for one kiss, yet longing for one hundred, One day or another they’ll come to your mind, You once fled away, you’ll come back again, One day or another they’ll come to your mind, You once fled away, you’ll come back again. And you, with your eyes of a different colour, You, who do tell me love words in the same way One month, one year will pass, and you will not stay, You who tell me I love you, from me you’ll flee away, One month, one year will pass, and you will not stay, You who tell me I love you, from me you’ll flee away. You came with the sun; on cold shores you did freeze I lost you in November or with a summer breeze, I have never lov’d you, I’ll love you for ay, O love ever coming, you’ll ever go away, I have never lov’d you, I’ll love you for ay, O love ever coming, you’ll ever go away. SHOLDE IC FYR BEON (S’i’ fosse foco) Sholde ic fyr beon, þe weoreld wolde ic brennen, Sholde ic wind beon, wið stormes him wolde ic swepen, Sholde ic water beon, him wolde ic yerne drounen Sholde ic God beon, to helle him wolde ic senden. Sholde ic þe Pope, so wold ic in myrþe leven Alle Christiantë wolde ic so bigilen, Sholde ic Emperoure, wistu hwat ic don wolde, Allen wolde ic þe heafed yerne sliten. Sholde ic þe deað, wold ic gon to mine faðer, Sholde ic þe live, fram him wolde ic fleon, And al þe lice wolde ic fleon fram mi moðer; Sholde ic Franssys, as ic eam and ic was Yunge bealtë wolde ic yerne kepen, And oðren olde and foule wolde ic yeven! SONG OF LOVE LOST (Canzone dell’Amore Perduto) Spring flowers did bloom, you remember, Along with our words, "We shall never part, my love, never, my love..." And these same words I’d like to tell you, now, But just like roses withering in the space of one day Our love is lost... Our love it is over, now, nothing is left except Unwillingly giving each other a caress With vanishing tenderness... And when you will come upon those flowers, So long ago wither’d away, in the sun of time past, You will regret them... But ‘twill the first one whom you’ll come across in the street That you’ll cover with gold for a kiss you haven’t given yet, For the renewal of love... And ‘twill the first one whom you’ll come across in the street That you’ll cover with gold for a kiss you haven’t given yet, For the renewal of love. THE RIGHT SEASON FOR YOUR LOVE (La stagione del tuo amore) The right season for your love Is not springtime any more But the sweetness of your sunset Shines on you, in your fall days If, one morning, you should find A white snowflake in your hair I will come and pluck a snowdrop From the garden of your love. Time goes by and never stops But you have nothing to fear: Seems it runs like the wind But time goes so slowly by. And just like in your spring days You cry and smile, smile and cry, All your joys and all your pains In one hour you’ll feel again. Time goes by and never stops But you have nothing to fear: Seems it runs like the wind But time goes so slowly by. And just like in your spring days You cry and smile, smile and cry, All your joys and all your pains In one hour you’ll feel again. |
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