Paroles et traduction Francesco Guccini - Milano (Poveri Bimbi Di)

Milano (Poveri Bimbi Di)

Quando son nato, io pesavo sei chili
Avevo spalle da uomo e mani grandi come badili

Quando son nato io, erano davvero tempi cupi
E le mie strade erano piene di iene e di lupi

Quando son nato io, la morte stringeva la vite
E la gente dei mondo ingoiava cordite

Poveri bimbi di Milano, coi vestiti comprati all'Upim
Abituati ad un cielo a buchi che vedete sempre più lontano
Poveri bimbi di Milano, così fragili, così infelici
Che urlate rabbia senza radici con occhi tinti e con niente in mano
Poveri bimbi di Milano, derubati anche di speranza
Che danzate la vostra danza in quello zoo metropolitano
Poveri bimbi di Milano, con fazzoletti come giardini
Poveri indiani nella riserva, poveri giacche blu questurini

Quando son nato io, c'era la fame nera
E la vita d'ognuno tirava il lotto ogni sera

Quando son nato io, le città erano cimiteri
E la primavera sbocciava sopra ai morti di ieri

Quando son nato io, alla fine ci tu gran festa
E l'uomo si svegliò dal sonno, aprì gli occhi e rialzò la testa

Poveri bimbi di Milano, dall'orizzonte sempre coperto
Povera sete di libertà, costretta a vivere nel deserto
Poveri bimbi di Milano, dalle musiche come un motore
Col più terribile dei silenzi, la solitudine del rumore
Poveri bimbi di Milano, figli di padri preoccupanti
Con un esistere da nano e nella mente sogni giganti
Poveri bimbi di Milano, numerosi come i minuti
Viaggiatori di mete fisse, spettatori sempre seduti

Quando son nato io, come capita a tutti
Il tempo uguale e incurante, imponeva i suoi frutti

Quando son nato io, nel rogo dì S. Silvestro
Si bruciava il passato e il peccato col resto

Quando rinasceremo come il sogno d'un uomo
Bruceremo il futuro in piazza del Duomo

Milan (My Poor Children)

When I was born, I weighed six kilos
I had shoulders like a man and hands as big as shovels

When I was born, the times were truly bleak
And my streets were full of hyenas and wolves

When I was born, death was tightening the vice
And the people of the world were swallowing strings

My poor children of Milan, with clothes bought at the Upim
Accustomed to a sky with holes that you see ever farther away
My poor children of Milan, so fragile, so unhappy
That you scream rootless anger with your eyes lined and your hands empty
My poor children of Milan, robbed even of hope
That dance your dance in that metropolitan zoo
My poor children of Milan, with handkerchiefs as gardens
Poor Indians in the reserve, poor blue jackets of the police

When I was born, there was black hunger
And everyone's life was a daily lottery

When I was born, cities were cemeteries
And spring blossomed over the dead of yesterday

When I was born, in the end there was a great celebration
And man woke from his sleep, opened his eyes and raised his head

My poor children of Milan, with your horizons always shrouded
Poor thirst for freedom, forced to live in the desert
My poor children of Milan, with music like an engine
With the most terrible of silences, the solitude of noise
My poor children of Milan, children of worrying fathers
With a dwarf-like existence and giant dreams in your minds
My poor children of Milan, as numerous as the minutes
Travelers to fixed destinations, forever seated spectators

When I was born, as happens to everyone
Unvarying and indifferent time exacted its toll

When I was born, in the bonfire of New Year's Eve
The past and sin were burned along with the rest

When we will be reborn like a man's dream
We will burn the future in the Piazza del Duomo