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Creuza de mä

This song by Fabrizio De André describes the sailor's life; a life of endless traveling, and when they return to land they feel like strangers.
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Umbre de muri muri de mainé
dunde ne vegnì duve l'è ch'ané
da 'n scitu duve a l'ûn-a a se mustra nûa
e a neutte a n'à puntou u cutellu ä gua
e a muntä l'àse gh'é restou Diu
u Diàu l'é in çë e u s'è gh'è faetu u nìu
ne sciurtìmmu da u mä pe sciugà e osse da u Dria
e a funtan-a di cumbi 'nta cä de pria
Shadows of faces, faces of sailors
where are you coming from, where are you going
from a place where the moon shows herself naked
and the night placed a knife against our throats
and riding a donkey only God was left
the Devil is in Heaven and there he made his nest
we get out of the sea to dry the bones of Andrew
at the doves' fountain in the stone house
 
E andae, andae, anda ayo; e andae, andae, anda ayo.
 
E 'nt'a cä de pria chi ghe saià
int'à cä du Dria che u nu l'è mainà
gente de Lûgan facce da mandillä
qui che du luassu preferiscian l'ä
figge de famiggia udù de bun
che ti peu ammiàle senza u gundun
And in the stone house who is there
in Andrew's house some who's not a sailor
people from Lugano faces of thieves
those that of a bass like the side
girls of good families, smelling fine
you can look at them without a condom
 
E a 'ste panse veue cose che daià
cose da beive, cose da mangiä
frittûa de pigneu giancu de Purtufin
çervelle de bae 'nt'u meximu vin
lasagne da fiddià ai quattru tucchi
paciûgu in aegruduse de lévre de cuppi
And to these empty bellies what will be given
things to drink, things to eat
fried fish, white Portofino wine
lamb's brains in that same wine
lasagna to cut in four sauces
puddings in sweet and sour of roof hare
 
E 'nt'a barca du vin ghe naveghiemu 'nsc'i scheuggi
emigranti du rìe cu'i cioi 'nt'i euggi
finché u matin crescià da puéilu rechéugge
frè di ganeuffeni e dè figge
bacan d'a corda marsa d'aegua e de sä
che a ne liga e a ne porta 'nte 'na creuza de mä
And in the wine boat we'll sail on the rocks
emigrants of laughter with nails in our eyes
until the morning grows so we'll harvest it
brother of carnations and girls
owner of a rope rotten far water and salt
a rope that ties and takes us to a seafront alley