Paroles et traduction Tazenda - Pitzinnos In Sa Gherra - Live

Pitzinnos In Sa Gherra - Live

Si ses de mutria mala
Morigande in sos pensamentos,
Lestra de su grecu sala
Ispinghet ecos de lamentos,
Brinca sos trabentos
Ei bessi dae su ludu,
Puru si non as a ottènner bantos,
Proa a dare unazudu.

No iscurtes sas muidas,
Lassa puru sas peàdas.
Sa tristessa commo est luida
E de realidade aundàda.

Arantzos in bucca a sos pitzinnos
A sa muda in sa rena, setzidos.
Fusileddos in sa pala,
Pedras in sa bertula.
Issos cherent una terra,
Pitzinnos in sa gherra.

Su destinu in sos isteddos
(Falet subra a sos piseddos)
Est drommende a bentre a chelu
(Unateru chelu pro lentolu).

Tue brinca sos trabentos
Ei bessi dae su ludu,
Puru si non as a ottener bantos,
Proas a dare unazudu.

Fintzas a cando sa pena
Su mundu in sas manos at a aere
Ischida·ti·nche in bona lena,
Fortzis gia giuches su chi cheres.

Arantzos in bucca a sos pitzinnos
A sa muda in sa rena setzidos
Fusileddos in sa pala,
Pedras in sa bertula.
Issos cherent una terra,
Pitzinnos in sa gherra.

Trenta, quaranta, cinquanta,
Mitragliatrice cànta
A tenore.
Tutti seduti giù per terra.

Quaranta, cinquanta, cinquantuno
Ferite di coltello
Nel cuore.
Tutti seduti giù per terra,
Pitzinnos in sa gherra.

War Children

If you have a bad face,
Thoughts filled with pain,
The Greek room's pallor
Sends echoes of laments,
It jumps from wall to wall
Well you are stupid,
Even that you will not get any points,
Try to help each other.

Do not listen to the news,
Let go of the fears.
Sadness is bright as the moon
And reality is drowning.

Oranges in the mouths of children
In silence on sandy ground, thirsty.
Bullets in their pockets,
Stones in their bags.
They want a land,
War children.

Their destiny in the stars
(They step on the roots)
Is sleeping on the ground
(The ground as a sheet).

You jump from wall to wall
Well you are stupid,
Even that you will not get any points,
Try to help each other.

Until the pain
The world has to air in its hands
Know that in good faith,
Perhaps now you will get what you want.

Oranges in the mouths of children
In silence on sandy ground thirsty.
Bullets in their pockets,
Stones in their bags.
They want a land,
War children.

Thirty, forty, fifty,
The machine gun sings
A tenor.
All sitting on the ground.

Forty, fifty, fifty-one
Knife wounds
In the heart.
All sitting on the ground,
War children.