Ferrante Zaire Remix of “Rain in pine”
by Gabriele D’Annunzio*CRY THE SKY
*traduzione dall’italiano all’inglese di Giovanna La Franca
Silent. On the door of the gate I hear you say sounds natural,
…but I hear new sounds that speak and tinnitus drops off.
Raining from the clouds gray.
It rains on dry plates and reddish,
rain on metal buildings and bristling,
it rains on the teaching of the bar myrtle,
shining the chains of rings received
on the thick stems of scented liquids,
it rains on our tired faces,
it rains on our rough hands on our investments
fattened on the sad thoughts that drowns
the soul serene, beautiful on the story yesterday beguiled,
beguiles me today or master.
The rain falls on the asphalt with solitary clippettio lasting
and varied pools in the fog the second highest,
while tall. (V. 39)
Responds to singing the tears of mothers
who spawns silent blackmail, or the ashen sky.
And the gun has a sound, and other gun sounds,
and the dagger more,
different instruments for countless deaths.
And we are surrounded by bad air,
the right people dying,
and your face is soft with tears as austere as mothers,
and your hair shine like the frozen lakes,
or resurrected creature
that you name Falcone.
The agreement of the political base
little by little more dirt under the weeping growing,
but there is a song that mixes the most raucous of salt down there,
moisture remote road.
Most deaf and dimmer dwindles,
Just a note still trembles,
Share and hears the voice from the sea.
Or is heard throughout the world poureth down
the silver rain that extinguishes
the wrath handed the second seed sadder,
The daughter of the octopus is mute,
but the young man blackmailed the future,
singing in the unanimous group ever with you,
And it rains on your grave Falcone.
Raining on your last road which seems the sky cries for pain,
not dead but suddenly the sky seems you made a living bait.
And all your song is in us fresh fragrant,
and the heart is like a sword in the chest intact,
including the eye lids are like bullets in the barrel,
teeth in the alveoli are glittering lights of anger.
And go from street to street, now joined,
(and remember your strength in ankles entangles us tie our knees)
never with you!
It’s raining on our faces angry,
it rains on our hands tight on our clean clothes
on future thoughts that the soul opens up novel,
on the lovely fable that yesterday beguiled,
and continues today and Falcone.
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