Резултати претраге

The last true bandit

Tonight in the shrubland
the paths are deserted.
No sound can be heard.
Winter colours everything.
 
Even the strong smell
is no longer as pungent,
for someone is missing.
The old bandit is dead.
 
The last true bandit
has left the shrubland
He dedicated to honour
his life and heart1
 
For the name of his father
he died alone and proud.
The last true bandit
has left the shrubland.
 
All alone he lived
for twenty years and more
walking forsaken paths
preceded by his dog.
 
He would come back home
to get his supplies
in the middle of the night,
while other people slept.
 
The last true bandit
has left the shrubland
He dedicated to honour
his life and heart
 
For the name of his father
he died alone and proud.
The last true bandit
has left the shrubland.
 
Surely honour must have
borne another strength
in the blood, in the heart
of Corsicans of old.
 
The last true bandit
has left the shrubland
He dedicated to honour
his life and heart
 
For the name of his father
he died alone and proud.
The last true bandit
has left the shrubland.
 

• 1. this hijacking of an idiom is nigh untranslatable. Hopefully the idea is similar

The Prisoner

I envy you, little sparrow
You who come a few times to visit me
Perched on one of the bars
From that tiny skylight looking so sad
 
When you don't come
I see a corner of sky, granted to me in favor
But I wait for you every time
Thinking that now you know when it's time
 
I’m a prisoner
and Mom is dying.
Forgive me, Mom
to hurt you so much.
 
I can't make a move
To kiss her one last time
I don't care about the rest
'Cause if she dies, it's because of me
 
She who never fell asleep
Without imploring Madonna, and the Saints
She who had given so much
So we can say later, he's a very good man
 
I’m a prisoner
and Mom is dying.
Forgive me, Mom
to hurt you so much.
 
I’m a prisoner
and Mom is dying.
Forgive me, Mom
Forgive me