Translation of the song lyrics L'Arcobaleno - Adriano Celentano

L'Arcobaleno (original)

Io son partito poi cos? d’improvviso
che non ho avuto il tempo di salutare
istante breve ma ancora pi? breve
se c'? una luce che trafigge il tuo cuore
L’arcobaleno? il mio messaggio d’amore
pu? darsi un giorno ti riesca a toccare
con i colori si pu? cancellare
il pi? avvilente e desolante squallore
Son diventato se il tramonto di sera
e parlo come le foglie d’aprile
e vivr? dentro ad ogni voce sincera
e con gli uccelli vivo il canto sottile
e il mio discorso pi? bello e pi? denso
esprime con il silenzio il suo senso
Io quante cose non avevo capito
che sono chiare come stelle cadenti
e devo dirti che? un piacere infinito
portare queste mie valige pesanti
Mi manchi tanto amico caro davvero
e tante cose son rimaste da dire
ascolta sempre e solo musica vera
e cerca sempre se puoi di capire
Son diventato se il tramonto di sera
e parlo come le foglie d’aprile
e vivr? dentro ad ogni voce sincera
e con gli uccelli vivo il canto sottile
e il mio discorso pi? bello e pi? denso
esprime con il silenzio il suo senso
Mi manchi tanto amico caro davvero
e tante cose son rimaste da dire
ascolta sempre e solo musica vera
e cerca sempre se puoi di capire
ascolta sempre e solo musica vera
e cerca sempre se puoi di capire (a sfumare)

L'Arcobaleno (translation)

I vanished then—so sudden, like the hush before a storm,
time slipped away, and I was gone, no word of parting left behind,
a slice of breath, briefer than dew dissolving at dawn,
if somewhere there is a ray that spears your heart’s dark wine—
the rainbow, yes, my missive borne on prismatic wings of love,
perhaps, one day, its arc will stoop to brush your brow,
with color’s sweep, even the world’s grey can be undone—
the most abject squalor, swept into forgetfulness somehow.
I have become, in the hush of evening’s burning rim,
and speak in the green-tongued language of April’s trembling leaves,
and I will dwell in each man’s honest voice, a psalm within,
and with the birds, I’ll share the song that morning weaves.
And my speech, more laden—heavy with meaning’s resin—
lets silence be the vessel of all it dares not say.
How many truths I failed to glean, when I was blinded by my reason,
clear, now, as meteor shards that bleed through the Milky Way.
And I must tell you—there is infinite pleasure, odd and sweet,
in shouldering these leaden trunks that bear my name.
You are missed, my treasured friend, beyond all speech can meet,
so many words unsaid, left flickering in the flame.
Hear always, and only, the music unmarred by artifice,
and seek—always, if you can—the marrow of things, not their guise.
I have become, in the hush of evening’s burning rim,
and speak in the green-tongued language of April’s trembling leaves,
and I will dwell in each man’s honest voice, a psalm within,
and with the birds, I’ll share the song that morning weaves.
And my speech, more laden—heavy with meaning’s resin—
lets silence be the vessel of all it dares not say.
You are missed, my treasured friend, beyond all speech can meet,
so many words unsaid, left flickering in the flame.
Hear always, and only, the music unmarred by artifice,
and seek—always, if you can—the marrow of things, not their guise.
Hear always, and only, the music unmarred by artifice,
and seek—always, if you can—the marrow of things, as it fades.