Le vecchie - Drupi

Stanno sedute sopra le panchine

Le vecchie lavandaie del borgo

E, all’ombra di una pianta sempre verde

Guardano passare la gente

Batte lontano la campana del duomo

Il traffico è quel mostro strano

La vecchia con il suo rosario in mano

Sorride e poi torna a pregare piano

Tra le case e i motorini

Nei i negozi sempre pieni

I ricordi della vecchia sono

Farfalle bianche in volo

Tra le rive del Ticino

Sulle foglie del giardino

I ricordi della vecchia sono

Farfalle bianche in volo

Passa un bambino

Con il suo cane al guinzaglio

E il tram è quel gigante giallo

Mentre di corsa il mondo intorno si muove

A loro piace tanto il sole

Dentro le mani hanno poco da fare

Le vecchie stanno lì a guardare

Sedute al sole, sopra le panchine

Le vecchie tornano bambine

Tra le case e i motorini

Nei i negozi sempre pieni

I ricordi della vecchia sono

Farfalle bianche in volo

Tra le rive del Ticino

Sulle foglie del giardino

I ricordi della vecchia sono

Farfalle bianche in volo

Farfalle bianche in volo

They are sitting on the benches

The old washerwomen of the village

And, in the shade of an evergreen plant

They watch the people go by

The bell of the cathedral beats far away

Traffic is that weird monster

The old woman with her rosary in her hand

She smiles and then goes back to praying softly

Between the houses and the mopeds

In the shops that are always full

The memories of the old woman are

White butterflies in flight

Between the banks of the Ticino

On the leaves of the garden

The memories of the old woman are

White butterflies in flight

A child passes

With his dog on a leash

And the tram is that yellow giant

While the world is moving around in a rush

They like the sun so much

Inside their hands they have little to do

The old women stand there watching

Sitting in the sun, on the benches

The old women become little girls again

Between the houses and the mopeds

In the shops that are always full

The memories of the old woman are

White butterflies in flight

Between the banks of the Ticino

On the leaves of the garden

The memories of the old woman are

White butterflies in flight

White butterflies in flight