Sleep buried in a cornfield
not the rose, the tulip is not
Whether you're waking from the shadow of the ditches But
are thousands of red poppies.
"Along the banks of my stream
I want you to come down the pike Silver,
No more dead bodies of soldiers
Brought in by the current boom."
So you said and it was winter
as others to hell
you going as someone who is sad;
The wind spits in the face of the snow.
Piero Stop, stop now,
let the wind take some 'on me,
of the dead in battle to bring you the voice
"Who gave his life in return was a cross."
But you do not you heard and the time passed
with the seasons, to step from Java,
And you got to cross the border in a beautiful
spring day.
while Marco in the shoulder with a heart
Did you see a man in the valley
What was your exact same mood
But the uniform of another color.
Piero Shoot, shoot him now, after a stroke
And shoot again,
long as you do not see him fall to the ground lifeless
to cover his blood.
"And if it's shot in front or in the heart,
Only time will die,
But time will remain for me to see,
See the eyes of a dying man." And while
uses this concern,
What turns and sees you, he's afraid
And shouldering the artillery
Do not reciprocating the courtesy.
You fell to the ground without a groan And I
accorgesti
in a moment that your life ended that day
And there would be no return.
"Ninette mine, to die in May
It takes time, too much courage, Ninette
beautiful, I would have preferred to go straight to hell
winter."
And while the corn was to feel you Inside
hands gripping the gun inside his mouth pressed
words
too frozen to melt in the sun.
Sleep
buried in the cornfield is not the rose, the tulip is not
Whether you're waking
But the shadow of the ditches are thousands of red poppies.
Di Fabrizio De André
