Текст и перевод песни VINICIO CAPOSSELA - Marcia Del Camposanto

Marcia Del Camposanto

E lo portaron al Camposanto
Gonfio di birra
Senza rimpianto
Se lo portaron
Seduto in trono
Quattro becchini
Al passo lento del perdono

Due passi avanti
Tre passi indietro
Sotto la luna livida dello spineto
La cinciallegra
Rimase affranta
Il gallo dorme
E la civetta canta

Nelle pannocchie
Tra il frumentone
Pass? Il bastone curvo della processione
La cornacchia
Gracchia alla macchia
La gazza luccica
Sul becco del trombone

E per la lagna
Della malogna
Che non portasse un′altra volta la scalogna
L'arciprete
Non volle messe
E solo un tocco al sacrestano gli concesse

E la buonanima
Del Materdomina
Soffia nel mantice della fisarmonica
La marescialla
Zoppa di guerra
Balla la polka
Della stampella

Nel tabernacolo
Del camposanto
La mammanonna lo depose come un guanto
Dentro la cassa
Porta il tesoro
E sopra gli occhi
Due zecchini d′oro

E per la Grazia
Del suo Mistero
E per la cantica e la tremola del cero
Dalle stelle
Sparate in cielo
La luna venne
Col suo manto nero

Gli tolse gli occhi
Gli tolse il pianto
Che non portasse l'amarezza dentro il campo
Si prese in cambio
L'oro zecchino
E lo brill? Nell′oro in bocca del mattino

E per la Grazia
Dello zecchino
Brill? Pi? Forte l′oro in bocca quel mattino

Buried Alive March

And they brought him to the Cemetery
Swollen with beer
Without regret
They brought him
Seated on a throne
Four undertakers
In the slow pace of forgiveness

Two steps forward
Three steps back
Under the livid moon of the thicket
The blue tit
Was heartbroken
The cock sleeps
And the owl sings

In the corn cobs
Among the maize
The bent stick of the procession passes by
The crow
Caws in the woods
The magpie glitters
On the beak of the trombone

And for the whining
Of the misfortune
So that he would not bring back bad luck
The archpriest
Did not want masses
And only granted the sacristan a touch

And the goodman
Of Materdomina
Blows into the bellows of the accordion
The marchioness
Lame from war
Dances the polka
Of the crutch

In the tabernacle
Of the cemetery
The grandmamma laid him down like a glove
In the coffin
He carries the treasure
And over his eyes
Two gold sequins

And for the Grace
Of his Mystery
And for the canticle and the flicker of the candle
From the stars
Shot into the sky
The moon came
With her black cloak

She took his eyes
She took his crying
So that he would not bring bitterness into the field
She took in exchange
The gold sequins
And made them shine in the gold of the morning's mouth

And for the Grace
Of the sequin
The gold in that morning's mouth shone brighter