Текст и перевод песни Sergio Bruni - 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 coming,
And being far away is making me sadder...
How I would love to light up two or three candles...
How I would love to hear a bagpipe player!...
For my children make a crib,
And put my plate on the table...
Make it as if I was there with you on Christmas Eve,
Even though I am not...
And it breaks our hearts, this America
To us Neapolitans!...
For us who cry for the sky of Naples,
How bitter this bread is!
My dear mother,
What are dollars, what are they?
To those of us who mourn our country, 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 home,
And I can hear the voices of my children...
But to you I am like a "Mary"...
With swords in her heart, before her crucified son!
And it breaks our hearts, this America
You wrote to me
That little Assunta is calling
For the one who left her and is still far away...
What can I tell you? If the daughters want their mother,
Make that "lady" come back.
Me, no, I will not return... I will stay abroad
And I will keep working for everyone.
I, who have lost my country, home and honor,
I am meat for the butcher: I am an emigrant