Testo Amerigo (Englisch)
Fabio Rovazzi: arriva laccusa di plagio
Amerigo Amerigo He probably got out closing the green door behind his shoulders, Someone in the meanwhile had got up to prepare him a barley coffee I don?t know if he turn?d, he was no man so easily lost in regret Regret is for the rich, and he went on his way without effort When I got to know him, my first image was that of an old man Or he look?d old to me, but at that time I was still a young child I was struck by his bald head and by a mysterious, strange thing A truss that made him look like a cop with his gun in the holster But he did feel that morning something new towards his family home And not to think of it, he had drunken wine for his first time Hard words to his father, with hunger and escapes in the background And as for his work, he was a prey to his ancient fatalism But he was twenty years old, and there was no wrinkle on his front But anger and adventure, and some vague ideas of socialism He already got on his face the oil smell and saltiness of Le Havre He already got in his mouth the dusty smell of blown up mines. America was in my thought Roosevelt?s GIs, the Fifth Army, America was Atlantis, America was my heart and my destiny America was "Life" with its clean-toothed smiles on glossy paper America, the phantastic, mysterious dreamland of Donald Duck At that time I saw America as a blessed nation, a world of peace, A paradise lost in sharp melancholy, a slow neurosis And Gunga-Din and Ringo, the heroes of Casablanca and Fort Apache A dream lull?d by the obsessive and incessant sound of Limentra I don?t know what he was feeling when New York appeared from the ship A forest of skyscrapers, a town of shit and streets, cries, a castle! And Pàvana, only a memory left in chestnut woods of the Appennines English sounded strange to him and pierced him in the breast like a dagger And ev?ry day he had to work hard and sweat blood from dawn till sunset Years and years like in jail, beer, prostitutes, hard days Irishmen and Negroes, Poles and Italians in the coal mines Sweat and anthracite in Pennsylvania, Arkansas, Texas, Missouri... He came back, as many would do, with his nest-egg and his youth lost in vain America was only a corner, America was only a shadowy haze America was a hernia, a dirty trick like any that life plays on And saying "boss" for "capo", and "ton" for "tonnellata", "rifle" for "fucile" When I got to know him my first image was that of an old man As any young man does, I used to pass by without stopping and looking And I couldn?t understand, that man was my own face reflect?d in a mirror Untill the time will come, that we?ll meet again despite of a? things Untill the time will come, that we?ll meet again despite of a? things Untill the time will come, that we?ll meet again despite of a? things!