La ballata del Pinelli [Ballata dell'anarchico Pinelli, o Il feroce questore Guida]
Autori Vari / Different Authors / Différents Auteurs| 7a. Versione inglese dei Wooden Shoe Ramblers | |
| THE BALLAD OF PINELLI That evening it was hot in Milano, how hot, how hot it was, "Brigadiere, open the window!", A push ... and Pinelli goes down. "Mr. Inspector, I told you already, I repeat, I am innocent, Anarchy doesn't mean bombs, but equality in liberty". "No more nonsense! Confess, Pinelli, your friend Valpreda talked, he pointed that bomb, and you certainly are the accomplice". "Impossible!", shouts Pinelli, "A comrade could impossibly do that! And the author of this crime, must be sought among those in power.” "Watch out, suspect Pinelli, this room is already full of smoke, if you persist, we'll open the window, four floors are hard to do". There's a coffin and 3,000 comrades, we held our black flags high, that night we all swore, it won't end this way, poor Pinelli. And you Guida, you Calabresi, if a comrade was killed, to cover a State slaughter, this fight will just grow bigger! That evening it was hot in Milano how hot, how hot it was, "Brigadiere, open the window!", A push ... and Pinelli went down. That evening it was hot in Milano how hot, how hot it was, "Brigadiere, open the window!", A push ... and Pinelli went down. | That night in Milan, was the setting How hot, that the sergeant was sweating Brigadier, crack open the window A push, and Pinelli goes down Oh sergeant, Pinelli repeated- I am innocent- but how I’m treated! Anarchy does not call us to bombing To be free, we must just disobey No more lying, Pinelli, confess it Without even your word we can guess it The bomb was laid out by Valpreda Your friend, and the blood’s on your hands Said Pinelli, the bomber’s some other- Not my comrade or one of my brothers The hands stained with blood are your own, sir, and the ones that are holding your leash The sergeant leaned in, and was smoking Blowing out and Pinelli was choking Brigadiere, crack open the window Pinelli, it’s four stories down Our flags were black in our mourning Three thousand comrades gave this warning, We swore by the blood of Pinelli We will neither forget or forgive You Guida, and you, Calebresi Was it you who sent out the order, To cover up the fascist murder? Was Pinelli the price in your game? That night in Milan, was the setting How hot, that the sergeant was sweating Brigadier, crack open the window A push, and Pinelli goes down |
