Francesco Guccini — Amerigo song lyrics and translation
The page contains the lyrics and English translation of the song "Amerigo" by Francesco Guccini.
Lyrics
Probabilmente uscì chiudendo dietro a se la porta verde
Qualcuno si era alzato a preparargli in fretta un caffè d’orzo
Non so se si girò, non era il tipo d’uomo che si perde
In nostalgie da ricchi, e andò per la sua strada senza sforzo
Quand’io l’ho conosciuto, o inizio a ricordarlo, era già vecchio
O così a me sembrava, ma allora non andavo ancora a scuola
Colpiva il cranio raso e un misterioso e strano suo apparecchio
Un cinto d’ernia che sembrava una fondina per la pistola
Ma quel mattino aveva il viso dei vent’anni senza rughe
E rabbia ed avventura e ancora vaghe idee di socialismo
Parole dure al padre e dietro tradizione di fame e fughe
E per il suo lavoro, quello che schianta e uccide: «il fatalismo»
Ma quel mattino aveva quel sentimento nuovo per casa e madre
E per scacciarlo aveva in corpo il primo vino di una cantina
E già sentiva in faccia l’odore d’olio e mare che fa Le Havre
E già sentiva in bocca l’odore della polvere della mina
L’America era allora, per me i G.I. di Roosvelt, la quinta armata
L’America era Atlantide, l’America era il cuore, era il destino
L’America era Life, sorrisi e denti bianchi su patinata
L’America era il mondo sognante e misterioso di Paperino
L’America era allora per me provincia dolce, mondo di pace
Perduto paradiso, malinconia sottile, nevrosi lenta
E Gunga-Din e Ringo, gli eroi di Casablanca e di Fort Apache
Un sogno lungo il suono continuo ed ossessivo che fa il Limentra
Non so come la vide quando la nave offrì New York vicino
Dei grattacieli il bosco, città di feci e strade, urla, castello
E Pavana un ricordo lasciato tra i castagni dell’Appennino
L’inglese un suono strano che lo feriva al cuore come un coltello
E fu lavoro e sangue e fu fatica uguale mattina e sera
Per anni da prigione, di birra e di puttane, di giorni duri
Di negri ed irlandesi, polacchi ed italiani nella miniera
Sudore d’antracite in Pennsylvania, Arkansas, Texas, Missouri
Tornò come fan molti, due soldi e giovinezza ormai finita
L’America era un angolo, l’America era un’ombra, nebbia sottile
L’America era un’ernia, un gioco di quei tanti che fa la vita
E dire boss per capo e ton per tonnellata, «raif» per fucile
Quand’io l’ho conosciuto o inizio a ricordarlo era già vecchio
Sprezzante come i giovani, gli scivolavo accanto senza afferrarlo
E non capivo che quell’uomo era il mio volto, era il mio specchio
Finché non verrà il tempo in faccia a tutto il mondo per rincontrarlo
Finché non verrà il tempo in faccia a tutto il mondo per rincontrarlo
Finché non verrà il tempo in faccia a tutto il mondo per rincontrarlo…
Lyrics translation
He probably went out closing the green door behind him
Someone got up to make him a barley coffee in a hurry
I don't know if he turned around, he wasn't the kind of man you lose.
In nostalgia from the rich, and went his way effortlessly
When I met him, or I begin to remember him, he was already old
Or so it seemed to me, but then I did not go to school yet
It struck the satin skull and a mysterious and Strange his apparatus
A hernia belt that looked like a gun holster
But that morning he had a face of twenty years without wrinkles
And anger and adventure and still vague ideas of socialism
Harsh words to the father and behind tradition of hunger and flight
And for his work, what crashes and kills: "fatalism»
But that morning she had that new feeling for home and mother
And to drive him out he had in his body the first wine of a cellar
And already felt in his face the smell of oil and sea that makes Le Havre
And already he felt in his mouth the smell of the dust of the mine
America was then, to me, the G. I. of Roosvelt, the Fifth Army
America was Atlantis, America was the heart, it was destiny
America was Life, smiles and white teeth on patinata
America was the dreamy and mysterious world of Donald Duck
America was then for me sweet province, world of peace
Lost Paradise, subtle melancholy, slow neurosis
And Gunga-Din and Ringo, The Heroes of Casablanca and Fort Apache
A dream along the continuous and obsessive sound that makes the Limentra
I don't know how he saw her when the ship offered New York nearby
Of the skyscrapers the Forest, City of feces and streets, screams, Castle
And Pavana a memory left among the chestnuts of the Apennines
The English a strange sound that hurt his heart like a knife
And it was Labor and blood, and it was Labor the same morning and evening
For years of prison, of beer and whores, of hard days
Of Negroes and Irishmen, poles and Italians in the mine
Anthracite sweat in Pennsylvania, Arkansas, Texas, Missouri
He returned as many fans, two money and youth now over
America was a corner, America was a shadow, thin fog
America was a hernia, a game of those many who makes life
And say boss For Boss and ton for ton, "raif" for rifle
When I met him or began to remember him he was already old
Contemptuous as the young, I slipped beside him without grasping him
And I didn't understand that man was my face, he was my mirror
Until the time comes for the whole world to meet him again
Until the time comes for the whole world to meet him again
Until the time comes for the whole world to meet him again…