Jean - Imperium

Il venticinque aprile, all’alba, cominciava a Berlino dell’Europa l’ultimo

respiro

Un migliaio di giovani attorno ad un bunker da tutta Europa venuti a morire con

te

Con te, Jean, venuto dalla Francia con i tuoi vent’anni e la speranza

Di poter forgiare l’Europa della libertà con la certezza di morire per la

civiltà!

Un anello di fuoco ti stringeva d’assedio, un anello d’oro stretto al tuo dito

Pegno di un amore che già tu sai;

amore, amore che non rivedrai mai

Una croce di ferro sul petto, il mitra stretto, due rune d’argento sopra

l’elmetto

Ma era l’Europa che moriva con te!

E mentre solo, tra l’odore del sangue, guardavi rossa in faccia la morte

La tua voce tranquilla parlava così: «Camerata, tu non sai com'è bella l’estate

là in Francia

Mentre scivola lenta la Senna, passeggiare lungo gli Champs-Élysées tra i

colori e il profumo dei fiori

Il sorriso di lei ti accompagna, incorniciato tra quelle labbra dipinte di

arancia

Camerata, tu non sai come è bella l’estate là in Francia!»

Una croce di ferro sul petto, il mitra stretto, due rune d’argento sopra

l’elmetto

Ma era l’Europa che moriva con te

Sei morto a vent’anni tu, Jean, la notte del trenta di aprile a Berlino

Con l’aquila e i gigli della Charlemagne, ma era l’Europa che moriva con te!

On the 25th of April, at dawn, the last one began in Berlin of Europe

breath

A thousand young people around a bunker from all over Europe came to die with

you

With you, Jean, who came from France with your twenties and hope

To be able to forge a Europe of freedom with the certainty of dying for

civilization!

A ring of fire was siege to you, a gold ring tight to your finger

Pledge of a love that you already know;

love, love you'll never see again

An iron cross on the chest, a narrow miter, two silver runes above

the helmet

But it was Europe that was dying with you!

And while alone, in the smell of blood, you looked red in the face of death

Your quiet voice spoke like this: "Camerata, you don't know how beautiful summer is

there in France

As the Seine glides slowly, stroll along the Champs-Élysées between the

colors and the scent of flowers

Her smile accompanies you, framed between those lips painted by

orange

Comrade, you don't know how beautiful summer is there in France! "

An iron cross on the chest, a narrow miter, two silver runes above

the helmet

But it was Europe that died with you

You died at the age of twenty, Jean, on the night of the 30th of April in Berlin

With the eagle and the Charlemagne lilies, but it was Europe that died with you!