Translation of the song lyrics Dove ho sbagliato - Checco Zalone

Dove ho sbagliato (original)

Passo a rallentatore questa nostra soria d’amore
Piango e resto senza fiato
Dove ho sbagliato… dove ho sbagliato
Passo a rallentatore questa nostra soria d’amore
Piango e resto senza fiato
Dove ho sbagliato… dove ho sbagliato
Faccio mente locale
Se ti ho fatto mai del male
Se le ali ti ho mai tappato
Dove ho sbagliato… dove ho sbagliato
Ti facevo stirare, ti facevo lavare
Dico ti ho mai vietato di fare un bucato
Dove ho sbagliato… dove ho sbagliato
Era tua la letizia di gettar l’immondizia
Tua è l’immensa emozione fare il cambio stagione
Che senso avrà questo sole al tramonto
Se torno a casa e non trovo pronto
Che senso avrà la rugiada al mattino
Senza mutande dentro al comodino
Che senso avrà quella mia lavatrice
Senza di lei che ritira le robbe
E le stende felice
Forse ho sbagliato a comprartelo il Bimby
Eri gelosa ho capito mia bamby
Forse ti ha offeso la lavastoviglie
Tu con le mani fai più meraviglie
Forse ho sbagliato se non ti ho mai detto
Che per me c’era un unico oggetto
E quello eri te. te…te

Dove ho sbagliato (translation)

I traverse, as through honeyed dusk, the slow decay of our love’s chronicle,
I weep, breath drawn thin as frost on glass,
Where did my hand falter… where did my hand falter
I traverse, as through honeyed dusk, the slow decay of our love’s chronicle,
I weep, breath drawn thin as frost on glass,
Where did my hand falter… where did my hand falter
I summon phantoms of memory to the hearth,
Did I ever, with careless word, leave you wounded?
Did I, in my folly, ever bind your wings with leaden thread?
Where did my hand falter… where did my hand falter
I set you to the yoke of iron and water,
Yet tell me, did I ever bar you from the river of linen?
Where did my hand falter… where did my hand falter
Was it your secret delight to cast waste into the abyssal night,
Yours the shivering rapture of the season’s turning, wardrobe reborn,
What meaning broods in this sun’s crimson descent,
If I return to a house grown cold, the table bare as winter branches,
What meaning lies in dawn’s trembling dew,
With the drawer’s silence – your underthings gone,
What purpose lingers in the old drum’s patient churning,
With no one to gather the garments,
And peg them to the wind with a smile like spring rain
Perhaps my error: gifting you that silver Bimby,
Jealousy flickered in your gaze, my childlike Bamby, I saw,
Perhaps the dishwasher’s hum bruised your pride,
For in your hands, miracles outshone machinery
Perhaps my failing was silence, never confessing
That for me the world held but one cherished token,
And it was you. you…you