Lyrics and translation Mario Merola - Lacreme napulitane

Lacreme napulitane

Mia cara madre,
Sta pe' trasí Natale,
E a stá luntano cchiù mme sape amaro...
Comme vurría allummá duje o tre biangale...
Comme vurría sentí nu zampugnaro!...

A 'e ninne mieje facitele 'o presebbio
E a tavula mettite 'o piatto mio...
Facite, quann'è 'a sera da Vigilia,
Comme si 'mmiez'a vuje stesse pur'io...

E nce ne costa lacreme st'America
A nuje Napulitane!...
Pe' nuje ca ce chiagnimmo 'o cielo 'e Napule,
Comm'è amaro stu ppane!

Mia cara madre,
Che só', che só' 'e denare?
Pe' chi se chiagne 'a Patria, nun só' niente!
Mo tengo quacche dollaro, e mme pare
Ca nun só' stato maje tanto pezzente!

Mme sonno tutte nnotte 'a casa mia
E de ccriature meje ne sento 'a voce...
Ma a vuje ve sonno comm'a na "Maria"...
Cu 'e spade 'mpietto, 'nnanz'ô figlio 'ncroce!

E nce ne costa lacreme st'America

Mm'avite scritto
Ch'Assuntulella chiamma
Chi ll'ha lassata e sta luntana ancora...
Che v'aggia dí? Si 'e figlie vònno 'a mamma,
Facítela turná chella "signora".

Io no, nun torno... mme ne resto fore
E resto a faticá pe' tuttuquante.
I', ch'aggio perzo patria, casa e onore,
I' só' carne 'e maciello: Só' emigrante!

Neapolitan Tears

My dear mother,
Christmas is about to come,
And being far away fills me with bitterness...
How I wish I could light two or three candles...
How I wish I could hear a bagpiper!...

For my children, build a crib,
And set a place for me at the table...
On Christmas Eve, when evening comes,
Pretend I'm there among you...

And this America costs us tears,
To us Neapolitans!...
For us who weep for the sky of Naples,
How bitter this bread is!

My dear mother,
What are they, these dollars?
For those who cry for their homeland, they are nothing!
Now I have a few dollars, and it seems to me
That I have never been so poor!

Every night I dream of my house,
And I still hear the voices of my children...
But to you I am like a "Maria"...
With seven swords in her heart, before her crucified son!

And this America costs us tears,

You wrote to me
That little Assunta calls
For the one who left her and is still far away...
What can I say? If the daughters want their mother,
Let that "lady" come back.

No, I will not return... I will stay abroad
And I will continue to work for all of you.
I, who have lost my country, my home and my honor,
I am only good for slaughter: I am an emigrant!