| La versione inglese di Dennis Criteser [2014]
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BALLAD OF THE HANGED | BALLAD OF THE HANGED MEN |
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We all did die in anger | We all died a hard death, |
Swallowing our last voice, | swallowing the last voice. |
Kicking out in the wind | Kicking in the wind, |
We all saw the light fade away. | we watched the light fade away. |
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Our cry flooded the sun, | The cry overwhelmed the sun, |
The air did in us tighten; | the air became close, |
Words turned into crystals, | crystals of words, |
The last curse we did shout. | the final curse uttered. |
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Before it was all over | Before it was all over |
The survivors did we remind | we remembered for whoever still lived |
That the price was our life | that the cost was life |
For the evil we did in one hour. | for the harm done in an hour. |
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Then we all slipp'd in the chill | Then we slipped on the ice |
Dying in trouble and in distress | of a dead man without neglect |
And an old prayer did we say, | reciting the ancient credo |
The prayer of the unpardoned. | of whoever dies without pardon. |
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He, who laughëd at our defeat, | Whoever mocked our defeat |
At our shame, at the way we did die, | and our extreme shame and our way, |
May he die by the same rope | choked by the very same grip |
Learning so how this knot is made. | he might learn to recognize the knot. |
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He, who poured earth on our bones | Whoever spread the earth over the bones |
And untroubled went his way home, | and took to the road again, tranquil, |
May he be buried with his face contorted | even he might arrive at the grave shocked, |
Early in a misty and gloomy morning. | with the fog of the early morning. |
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The woman, who disguis'd with her smiles | The woman who concealed in a smile |
The embarrassment she felt at our memory, | the discomfort of giving us memory - |
May she see ev'ry night on her face | you rediscover every night on your face |
The ravages of time passing by. | an insult of time and some dross. |
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To ev'rybody do we bear a grudge | We cultivate for everyone a resentment |
That smells of clotted blood, | that smells like clotted blood. |
What we then called pain and sorrow | What we then called sadness |
Is a question left without an answer. | is just a suspended discourse. |