That Night in Front of the "Bussola"

Предыстория создания

См. статью Quella notte davanti alla Bussola.

Текст

В 1999 году Рикардо Вентури (Riccardo Venturi) написал английский вариант песни.

• That night in front of the "Bussola"
• In the cold New Year’s eve,
• That new year’s night
• We shan’t never forget.

• The Gentlemen they arrived
• With their luxury motor cars,
• Casting scornful looks
• At students and workers.

• The ladies in evening dress
• With their shoulders cover’d by furs,
• The Powerful with their bow-ties
• And all their starchy faces.

• They were the same Gentlemen
• Who exploit us all the year long,
• Those who make us die
• In the factories nearby

• They came to rejoice and drink
• After a whole year of exploitation,
• Hoping that the year to come
• Will bring them still more profit

• The Comrades, they know well
• All of them and cannot stop,
• And they throw rotten tomatoes,
• And they all spit at their faces

• But someone’s blown in a trumpet
• To defend those exploiters,
• The Police are rushing quickly
• And is having a free-for-all

• How beautiful the cops are
• When they beat up people in handcuffs,
• The young Comrades in high school age
• Fourteen to seventeen years old

• And they don’t stop beating
• If the lieutenant don’t tell them to stop,
• They’re the most realistic image
• Of our established order

• And we already can see the Police
• Drawing up in battle array
• To begin the man-hunt
• With patrol and armoured cars

• We can’t flee away from there
• And leave our Comrades behind,
• We’ve been caught into a trap
• And cannot reach our cars

• We decide to hold out
• And we build up barricades
• That’s a better way to resist
• The subsequent attacks

• From the first barricade
• To the area held by the Police
• There’s a dark no man’s land
• Of about thirty yards

• When the Police begins to advance
• A cop fires a shot in the air,
• The Comrades they throw stones
• Trying to stop the Police

• The Police stops for a moment,
• Then they retake their advance,
• Now it isn’t one only,
• Now a lot of them is shooting

• From the first barricade
• We can see well the guns,
• But from the other one, the Comrades
• Think they are only petards

• We draw back all together
• To the other barricade,
• And the cops they retreat,
• The thing’s taking a bad turn

• One hour more of attacks
• We with our stones and they with their guns,
• And we think they’re firing blank shots
• Even from an armoured car

• But, suddenly, I see a Comrade
• Fall to the ground to my right,
• He falls on his knees with a hole
• And his trousers stained with blood

• I turn and shout: "They’re shooting!"
• And I run backwards for a while,
• Two Comrades carry on their shoulders
• The Comrade wounded in one leg

• Running fast on the street’s pavement
• And pursued by the Police,
• I can see Ceccanti mortally wounded
• Being carried on the sidewalk

• We all do our best to help him,
• But it’s difficult to find rescue
• While we’re pursued by the cops,
• They give us no respite

• Luckily, we find a runabout
• And we take Ceccanti away,
• There’s nothing more we can do
• But running away in haste

• Maybe tonight at the "Bussola"
• The masters have taken offence,
• They who offend us and kill us
• For the remaining twelve months

• We’d better offending them more often
• And never giving them any respite,
• Every time these Gentlemen
• Happen to be within our range

• And now I think we should make
• Some remarks on the situation,
• On the different ugly faces
• The Masters show us nowadays

• They have money to buy us,
• They give work to exploit us,
• They have their Police to kill us
• And the TV to cheat us

• The only good thing we can do
• Is revolting, refusing their tricks,
• Refusing their false freedom,
• That’s all shit for the people

• The only good thing we can do
• Is revolting, refusing their tricks,
• Refusing their false freedom
• That’s all shit for the people.