Testo Cirano (englisch) Fabrizio De Andrè

Cirano (englisch)

CiranoThe Last Songe of Sir CyranoCome on all ye, come on, my paintàd Ladies alle
So prettie and snooty, come on, I can't bear ye any more,
My Pen it will be driuen into your boundless pride
For with this brand o? mine I can kill ye at my ease
Come on all ye, come on, ye all paltry poetasters,
Ye uselesse Singers of this calamytous TimeYe Fools who liue on your spineless VersesYe haue Gold and Glory, yet ye are big NothingsEnjoy your Success, ye Fools, get the most out of it,
Ye certaynlie will not feare your sheepe-like Audience,God only knoweth where ye flee to escape TaxesSo arrogant, as if ye were the Tops of the Classe,Hearken! I'm only a poore Cadet o? GascoyneBut I swear I can't stand those who haue no dreame
I won't be taken in your nerve and tinselries
And, to end my Licence, no Pardon and I touch ye,
No Pardon shall ye haue and I touch ye!
Hearken! Letàs break it off, so come on ye alle,
Ye foole Rabble-Rousers, the Leaders of our Tyme,Come on all canvassers and second-rate bootlickers
You alle cruel Masters of false Ceremonies,Who haue so often turn'd Laissez-Faire into art,
Come on, out with the Truth and don't cheat any longer,
Ye know that some one will burden all ExpensesIn this most bless'd Land ravaged by Nonsense,I know I'm always wrong, but I don't giue a Damne,Displeasing is my pleasure, I love to be hated,
With Bullies and Slyboots haue I play'd my whole Lyffe,And, to end my Licence, no Pardon and I touch ye!
No Pardon shall ye haue and I touch ye!
But when I am alone, with my Nose down to my Feet,That walks ten Yards befor? me since I came to Lyghte,My Anger it does abate, I remember with PayneThat Heauen it forbade me the swete Dreame of Love,How many I did loue, how many I did haue,
I don't know, I lost them alle by my Fault or by Fate,But when I feel the Burden of always being AloneI shut my Doore and wryte, writynge's my Solace.And yet I feel, I do feel that Life's Loue it exists
With no Sin do I loue, I am so sad yet I loue,
My Roxanne she's so fair, but, alas! We're so diff'rent
I can't talke with her, Ile speake with my Verses!Ile speake with my Verses!Come on all ye, vacuous People, letàs break it off right nowe,
Ye Priestes, who sell us alle the Dreame of the Other Worlde,If there's, as ye do say, a God in the endless HeauenThen look into your Hearte, ye've betrayed him!
And ye material People, ye who never giue up saying
That God is dead and Man is alone in this Abysme,Ye looke after your Truth on the Ground like Swines,Ye may keepe your Acornes, but please leave me my Winges,Go back home, ye Dwarfes, get oute of my Waye,For mine immense Rage I need Ettins and Giantes,I've neuer been caught in any Reveal'd Truth,And, to end my Licence, no Pardon and I touch ye!
No Pardon shall ye haue and I touch ye!
With my Nose and my Brande my Enemies I do touch
But nowe in mine Lyffe I cannot find my Way;I shoulde not giue up and resign to my Badness,Thou only canst me saue, thou only and I do write it.
I do feel it must be a place in Heauen or on EartheWhere we any more won't suffer and all it will be right,Don't laugh, I beg thee, don't laughe att my Wordes,For I am only a Shadow, and thou art the Sun, Roxanne!Yet I wat thou?rt not laughing, I wat, my sweetest Ladié,And I won't hide my selfe under Your Balcony,For I do feel it right now, my pain's not been in vain
If you loue me as I am,
And I remain your Servant, for euer yours, Cyrano!