Carmine - Stormy Six

Carmine,

lui faceva il barbiere,

il muratore, il contrabbandiere.

Lunedì era senza lavoro,

venerdì steso sotto una gru,

La domenica con un mazzo di rose all’angolo.

Carmine lui sapeva cantare,

per un po' si faceva pregare.

Quando poi la chitarra attaccava,

lui si volta a prendere il la,

poi cantava e di nuovo

noi eravamo un popolo.

Carmine inventava parole,

lucide come trottole al sole.

Quando tu non riuscivi a capire,

lui ti portava a bere un caffè,

ti spingeva, ti stuzzicava,

per farti ridere.

Parlami attraverso quel muro,

ti riconosco in mezzo al rumore,

ora che siamo insieme a lottare,

posso parlarti chiaro perché…

mentre Carmine canta,

noi siamo ancora un popolo.

Carmine,

he was a barber,

the bricklayer, the smuggler.

Monday was out of work,

Friday lying under a crane,

Sunday with a bouquet of roses on the corner.

Carmine he could sing,

for a while he made himself pray.

Then when the guitar started,

he turns to take the la,

then he sang and again

we were a people.

Carmine invented words,

shiny like tops in the sun.

When you couldn't understand,

he used to take you for a coffee,

he pushed you, teased you,

to make you laugh.

Talk to me through that wall,

I recognize you in the midst of the noise,

now that we are fighting together,

I can speak to you clearly because ...

while Carmine sings,

we are still a people.