On D-Day, I was in Rome.
I walked through narrow streets to the Vatican.
And I thanked the Pope
That I was there and not in Normandy.
Village by village, patiently
A slow, bloody ride up from Sicily.
And all roads lead to Rome, I guess.
But there's no time to dwell on the emptiness.
And when I was nineteen,
My hair turned as white as the cloud over Tripoli.
There at night, in the face of the war,
I exhaled in my sleeping bag to keep warm.
Looking back, I was one of the lucky ones,
Checking my boots by morning for scorpions.
And all roads lead to Rome, I guess.
But there's no time to dwell on the emptiness.
Be careful what you wish.
I hated a man - a sergeant from Baltimore.
I wished that his ship would sink,
And torpedoed it was, ten miles of Gibraltar.
And I felt guilty with a little tinge of fear
With he in the deep and I still here,
But my roads led to Rome, I guess.
And there's no time to dwell on the emptiness.
On D-Day, I was in Rome.
I walked through narrow streets to the Vatican.
And on the way back, they bombed us again.
Village by village, patiently
A slow, bloody ride up from Sicily.
And all roads lead to Rome, I guess.
But there's no time to dwell on the emptiness.
I walked through narrow streets to the Vatican.
And I thanked the Pope
That I was there and not in Normandy.
Village by village, patiently
A slow, bloody ride up from Sicily.
And all roads lead to Rome, I guess.
But there's no time to dwell on the emptiness.
And when I was nineteen,
My hair turned as white as the cloud over Tripoli.
There at night, in the face of the war,
I exhaled in my sleeping bag to keep warm.
Looking back, I was one of the lucky ones,
Checking my boots by morning for scorpions.
And all roads lead to Rome, I guess.
But there's no time to dwell on the emptiness.
Be careful what you wish.
I hated a man - a sergeant from Baltimore.
I wished that his ship would sink,
And torpedoed it was, ten miles of Gibraltar.
And I felt guilty with a little tinge of fear
With he in the deep and I still here,
But my roads led to Rome, I guess.
And there's no time to dwell on the emptiness.
On D-Day, I was in Rome.
I walked through narrow streets to the Vatican.
And on the way back, they bombed us again.
Village by village, patiently
A slow, bloody ride up from Sicily.
And all roads lead to Rome, I guess.
But there's no time to dwell on the emptiness.
inviata da Riccardo Venturi - 17/1/2007 - 17:22
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Se fosse possibile assegnare un "Premio CCG per la sincerità " questa canzone sarebbe una serissima concorrente...la candida confessione di un soldato che, il giorno dello sbarco in Normandia ringrazia il cielo di essere a Roma invece che "lassù"...e che odia a tal punto un sergente di Baltimora da augurargli di morire ammazzato. Cosa che puntualmente avviene: il sergente di Baltimora si becca un siluro a Gibilterra! [RV]