Paroles et traduction Franco Battiato - Aria Di Rivoluzione/Sequenze E Frequenze

Aria Di Rivoluzione/Sequenze E Frequenze

Quell′autista in Abissinia
Guidava il camion fino a tardi
E poi a notte fonda si riunivano

A quel tempo in Europa c'era un′altra guerra
E per canzoni solo sirene d'allarme

Aber der Glanz müntzerscher Morgensterne
Über den aufrührerischen Bauern
Wenn sie ihren Peinigern ein blutiges Licht aufsteckten
Aber der Wohlklang der Stalinorgel
Wenn sie den Hitler-Soldaten
Zu Weihnacht "Friede auf Erden" in die erfrorenen Ohren brüllte

Passa il tempo
Sembra che non cambi niente
Questa mia generazione
Vuole nuovi valori

E ho già sentito
Aria di rivoluzione
Ho già sentito gridare
Chi attrae la mutilazione

Aber die Eleganz automatischer Raketen
In Ho-Chi-Minhs Himmel
Wenn sie den erstaunlichen Ingenieurleistungen aus Detroit
Den erstaunlichen Kuss geben
Aber die Schönheit der Maschinenpistole
Über der Schulter des Guerilla-Kämpfers
Wenn er dem bolivianischen Kuli
Treffende Argumente gegen seine Unterdrücker liefert
Die sie endlich verstehen

Das Beste aber, Polizisten, abgerichtet gegen das Volk
Wenn sie im Strom der empörten Massen
Durch die Straßenschluchten geschwemmt ertrinken
Und endlich, endlich ergreifen sie-

Aria Di Rivoluzione/Sequenze E Frequenze

That truck driver in Abyssinia
Drove his truck until late
And then late at night they would gather

At that time in Europe there was another war
And for songs only air raid sirens

But the brilliance of Muenzer's morning stars
Over the rebellious peasants
When they put up a bloody light to their tormentors
But the harmony of the Stalin organ
When they shouted "Peace on earth" to Hitler's soldiers
Into their frozen ears at Christmas

Time passes
It seems that nothing changes
My generation
Wants new values

And I have already heard
A breath of revolution
I have already heard the shouts
Of those who attract mutilation

But the elegance of automatic rockets
In Ho Chi Minh's sky
When they give the amazing engineers from Detroit
The amazing kiss
But the beauty of the machine gun
Over the guerrilla fighter's shoulder
When he gives the Bolivian coolie
Telling arguments against his oppressors
Which they finally understand

But the best, policemen, trained against the people
When they drown in the stream of outraged masses
Swept away through the street canyons
And finally, finally they take hold