Paroles et traduction Le Luci della Centrale Elettrica - Fare i camerieri

Fare i camerieri

Ti porto sul ponte più bombardato d'Europa
Con la mia macchina non catalitica,
Ti porto sul porto più bombardato d'Italia,
Rotolandoti sulle mie ginocchia.

Fare i camerieri a Parigi, a New York, a Belgrado,
Fare i camerieri a Parigi, a New York, a Berlino, a Hong Kong,
Accompagnami a correre sulla circonvallazione,
Che ho voglia di stordirmi un po' coi fumi dello smog.

Senti i tuoni, senti i tuoni,
Senti i tuoni dagli Stati Uniti bombardare l'Iran,
Bombardare l'Iran, bombardare l'Iran.
Saremo i vostri migliori fornitori di mine.

Fare i camerieri a Parigi, a Kabul, a Beirut,
Che a forza di bere ti vada di traverso il mare.
Fare i camerieri a Parigi, a Kabul, a Pechino, a Hong Kong,
Accompagnami a correre sulla circonvallazione,
A sentire sparare appena fuori dai poligoni,
A sentire sparare a due passi dai cimiteri monumentali dai funerali di Berlinguer,
A vederti sparire a Firenze,
Partire col camion che raccoglie la spazzatura alle sei di mattina.

Mentre parecchi facevano l'università
E alcuni si impiccavano in garage
Lasciando come ultime volontà le poesie di Vian.

(Je mendierai ma vie
Sur les routes de France
De Bretagne en Provence
Et j'irai dire aux gens
Refusez d'obéir
Refusez de la faire
N'allez pas à la guerre
S'il faut donner son sang
Aller donner le vôtre
Vous êtes bon apôtre
Monsieur le président
Si vous me poursuivez
Prévenez vos gendarmes
Que je n'aurai pas d'armes
Et qu'ils pourront tirer)

Waitering

I'll take you to the most bombed bridge in Europe
With my non-catalytic car,
I'll take you to the most bombed port in Italy,
Rolling you on my knees.

Waiting tables in Paris, in New York, in Belgrade,
Waiting tables in Paris, in New York, in Berlin, in Hong Kong,
Take me for a run on the ring road,
Because I want to get a little high on smog fumes.

Hear the thunder, hear the thunder,
Hear the thunder from the United States bombing Iran,
Bombing Iran, bombing Iran.
We will be your best suppliers of mines.

Waiting tables in Paris, in Kabul, in Beirut,
So that by dint of drinking the sea goes down the wrong way.
Waiting tables in Paris, in Kabul, in Beijing, in Hong Kong,
Take me for a run on the ring road,
To hear shooting just outside the firing ranges,
To hear shooting a stone's throw from the monumental cemeteries from Berlinguer's funeral,
To see you disappear in Florence,
Leaving with the truck that collects the garbage at six in the morning.

While many were going to university
And some were hanging themselves in garages
Leaving behind Vian's poems as their last will and testament.

(I will beg my way
On the roads of France
From Brittany to Provence
And I will go and tell the people
Refuse to obey
Refuse to do it
Don't go to war
If you have to give your blood
Go and give yours
You are a good apostle
Mr. President
If you pursue me
Warn your gendarmes
That I will not have weapons
And that they will be able to shoot)