Lyrics of Splendore E Tenebra - Cripple Bastards

Splendore E Tenebra (original)

l sangue e?
il mio splendore e il mio rifugio
Dal profondo degli occhi
mi strapparono la luce e la dolce tiepida notte.
Ora il lampo del giorno sorge solo dietro la fronte e mi accende due cavita?
insanguinate.
Nel cavo della mano si spensero i miei occhi ormai incapaci di pianto
ridevano alla luce
mentre caldo e denso il sangue stillava tra le dita che il carnefice mi conficco?
nelle orbite.
Con ogni forza della mente decisi di contare: nella colonna ero il cinquantesimo avanzavamo come una fila per il pane,
una fila che procedeva e si fermava Contavo.
trentun vittime
e sessantadue colpi di coltello.
Un rantolo, una spinta, una caduta un passo ancora.
Un rantolo una spinta una caduta, e il sangue che sgorgava a fiotti.
Con ogni forza della mente addizionavo i colpi, sottraevo i caduti,
ogni grido, ogni singulto
mi feriva nel cuore come un morso.
Sotto il sole feroce ci falciavano
come spighe fruscianti:
con suono uguale ci sgorgava il sangue dalle gole recise.
La fossa e?
colma, la calce e?
gettata sui corpi perche?
i morti non appestino
l’aria.
E la fiamma della loro carita?
che riscalda i defunti.
Sento i cadaveri che si contraggono mi arrampico, con rabbia istintiva Sento i cadaveri che si contraggono come pesci morti cosparsi di sale.
Si smuovevano, mi slittavano addosso, lentamente franavano e quei morti
ridevano, piangevano, gridavano e invocavano, furiosamente tendevano le braccia
cercando di afferrarmi…
Sentivo le unghie, le ginocchia, i fianchi,
le bocche inquiete su di me.
Mi arrampicavo con rabbia istintiva premendo su di loro, sui ventri, sui toraci,
e se ne sprigionavo un rantolo, un gorgoglio, ormai non ne avevo piu?
pieta?
e forse calpestavo un mio vicino di casa, forse calpestavo mia sorella morta.
CALPESTAVO MIA SORELLA MORTA
Ne?
pianti, ne?
risa, ne lamenti, ne canti.
la luna vagante splende sulle rovine,
il singhiozzo remoto delle fontane tace,
la carogna di un cane giace in mezzo alla strada.
il riverbero dei vetri,
il cigolio di una chiave dentro una vecchia serratura,
l’odore dell’incendio e in quell’odore ogni ricordo
le vendemmie e le nozze, un raggio di sole che indora la porta di casa,
e le danze, le veglie, i funerali, i lamenti
la pace che regna su un secolo spento
cio?
che la vita semina e la morte raccoglie.
Prende liberamente spunto dal poema «La fossa» di Ivan Goran Kovac?
ic?
con l’unico intento di esaltare la sofferenza, non di condannarla
proprio per questo molte parti dell’originale sono state estromesse
English
SPLENDOUR AND DARKNESS
Blood is my glory and my refuge
From the depths of my eyes
they tore out the light and the sweet warm night.
Now the flash of day rises
only inside my head and lights two bloody cavities.
In the palm of my hand my eyes were spent no longer able to cry
they laughed at the light
while hot, dense blood
oozed between the fingers that the torturer
stuck in my sockets.
With all my strength of mind I decided to count: I was the fiftieth in line
we proceeded like a line for bread,
a line that went forward then stopped
I was counting … thirty-one victims and sixty-two stabs of the knife.
A gasp, a push, a fall
one more step.
A gasp a push a fall,
and rivers of blood that flowed.
With all my strength of mind I added up the blows, I subtracted the dead,
every cry, every sob
hurt my heart like a bite.
Under the fierce sun they mowed us like rustling ears of corn:
with the same sound the blood gushed from our slit throats.
The pit is full, lime thrown on the bodies so the dead do not plague the air.
And the flame of their charity
heats the dead.
I feel the bodies contract
I scramble, with instinctive anger, I feel the bodies contract
like dead fish sprinkled with salt.
They slithered, they slid over me,
they slowly subsided and those dead laughed, cried, screamed and invoked,
stretched out their arms furiously
trying to grab me …
I felt nails, knees, sides,
restless mouths on me.
I scrambled, with instinctive anger,
pressing on them, on their bellies, chests,
and gasps, gurgles, breathed out
now I had no more pity
and perhaps I was trampling on a neighbour, perhaps I was trampling my dead
sister.
I WAS TRAMPLING MY DEAD SISTER
Neither tears nor laughter, nor cries, nor songs.
the vagrant moon shines on the ruins,
the remote sob of fountains is silenced,
a dead dog lying in the road.
the reflection of the glass,
the creaking of a key in on old lock,
the odour of fire and in that odour every memory
harvests and weddings, a ray of sun that gilds the door of home, and the dances,
the vigils, the funerals, the laments
the peace that reigns over a spent century
what life sows, death reaps.
Freely inspired by Ivan Goran Kovac?
ic?'s poem The Pit with the sole intent of praising suffering not condemning it which is why many parts of the original
have been left out

(translation)

l blood and?
my splendor and my refuge
From the bottom of the eyes
they snatched the light and the sweet warm night from me.
Now does the lightning of day only arise behind my forehead and light up two cavities?
bloody.
In the hollow of my hand my eyes, now incapable of crying, went out
they laughed at the light
while hot and thick blood dripped between the fingers that the executioner stick me?
in orbits.
With every strength of mind I decided to count: in the column I was the fiftieth we were advancing like a line for bread,
a line that proceeded and stopped Contavo.
thirty-one victims
and sixty-two knife strokes.
A gasp, a push, a fall, one more step.
A gasp, a push, a fall, and blood gushing out in gushes.
With every force of mind I added the blows, I subtracted the fallen,
every cry, every sob
it hurt my heart like a bite.
Under the fierce sun they mowed us down
like rustling ears:
with the same sound the blood gushed from our severed throats.
The pit and?
fill, the lime and?
thrown on the bodies why?
the dead do not plague
the air.
And the flame of their charity?
that warms the dead.
I feel the corpses contracting I climb, with instinctive anger I feel the corpses contracting like dead fish sprinkled with salt.
They moved, slipped on me, slowly collapsed and those dead
they laughed, cried, shouted and cried, furiously they stretched out their arms
trying to grab me ...
I could feel the nails, the knees, the hips,
the restless mouths on me.
I climbed with instinctive anger pressing on them, on their bellies, on their chests,
and if I gave off a rattle, a gurgle, now I didn't have any more?
compassion?
and maybe I was stepping on a neighbor of mine, maybe I was stepping on my dead sister.
I WALKED ON MY DEAD SISTER
Neither?
are you crying?
laugh, moan, sing.
the wandering moon shines on the ruins,
the distant sobbing of the fountains is silent,
a dog's carrion lies in the middle of the road.
the glare of the glass,
the creaking of a key inside an old lock,
the smell of fire and every memory in that smell
harvests and weddings, a ray of sunshine that gilds the front door,
and the dances, the vigils, the funerals, the laments
the peace that reigns over an extinct century
that is?
that life sows and death collects.
Are you freely inspired by Ivan Goran Kovac's poem "La fossa"?
ic?
with the sole intent of exalting suffering, not condemning it
precisely for this reason many parts of the original have been ousted
English
SPLENDOR AND DARKNESS
Blood is my glory and my refuge
From the depths of my eyes
they tore out the light and the sweet warm night.
Now the flash of day rises
only inside my head and lights two bloody cavities.
In the palm of my hand my eyes were spent no longer able to cry
they laughed at the light
while hot, dense blood
oozed between the fingers that the torturer
stuck in my sockets.
With all my strength of mind I decided to count: I was the fiftieth in line
we proceeded like a line for bread,
a line that went forward then stopped
I was counting… thirty-one victims and sixty-two stabs of the knife.
A gasp, a push, a fall
one more step.
A gasp a push a fall,
and rivers of blood that flowed.
With all my strength of mind I added up the blows, I subtracted the dead,
every cry, every sob
hurt my heart like a bite.
Under the fierce sun they mowed us like rustling ears of corn:
with the same sound the blood gushed from our slit throats.
The pit is full, lime thrown on the bodies so the dead do not plague the air.
And the flame of their charity
heats the dead.
I feel the bodies contract
I scramble, with instinctive anger, I feel the bodies contract
like dead fish sprinkled with salt.
They slithered, they slid over me,
they slowly subsided and those dead laughed, cried, screamed and invoked,
stretched out their arms furiously
trying to grab me ...
I felt nails, knees, sides,
restless mouths on me.
I scrambled, with instinctive anger,
pressing on them, on their bellies, chests,
and gasps, gurgles, breathed out
now I had no more pity
and perhaps I was trampling on a neighbor, perhaps I was trampling my dead
sister.
I WAS TRAMPLING MY DEAD SISTER
Neither tears nor laughter, nor cries, nor songs.
the vagrant moon shines on the ruins,
the remote sob of fountains is silenced,
a dead dog lying in the road.
the reflection of the glass,
the creaking of a key in on old lock,
the odor of fire and in that odor every memory
harvests and weddings, a ray of sun that gilds the door of home, and the dances,
the vigils, the funerals, the laments
the peace that reigns over a spent century
what life sows, death reaps.
Freely inspired by Ivan Goran Kovac?
ic? 's poem The Pit with the sole intent of praising suffering not condemning it which is why many parts of the original
have been left out