Lyrics Traditional: Lu me sciccareddu - Roberto Alagna

Traditional: Lu me sciccareddu (original)

Avia nu sciccareddu
ma veru sapuritu,
a mia mi l`ammazzaru
poveru sceccu miu.
C`era na signorina
ca lu vuleva beni,
e quannun`lu videva
idda suffreva li peni.
Chi bedda vuci avia
paria nu gran tenuri
sciccareddu di lu me cori
comu iu t`haiu a scurdari
E quannu cantava facia…
iiiiha iha iha
sciccareddu di lu me cori
comu iu t`haiu a scurdari.
Quannu `nta la so` strata
na scecca iddu `ncuntrava,
prestu addrizzava aricchi
e tutta l`arraspava.
Quannu muriu me mogghi
chiancii senza duluri,
ora ca mursi u sceccu
chianciu cu tuttu lu cori.
Chi bedda vuci avia
paria nu gran tenuri,
sciccareddu di lu me cori
comu iu t`haiu a scurdari
e quannu cantava facia…
iiiiha iha iha
sciccareddu di lu me cori
comu iu t`haiu a scurdari

Traditional: Lu me sciccareddu (translation)

Once I possessed a donkey,
A creature rare, a savor on the tongue—
But they have wrung his life from me,
My gentle, sorrow-shadowed beast.
A maiden once, pale as dawn’s petal, appeared,
And held him dearer than autumn’s last rose,
And when her eyes would lose him in the fields,
In silence she drank longing’s bitter dregs.
What voice he bore—a bell in summer dusk—
He sang, a tenor in the wild wind’s choir,
O donkey, deep inside my chest—my heart’s own thistle-flower—
How shall I ever let your shadow fade?
And when he sang, the air grew silver—
Iiiiha iha iha
O donkey, deep inside my chest—my heart’s own thistle-flower—
How shall I ever let your shadow fade?
And when upon his humble path
Another donkey crossed his pilgrimage,
He soon would prick his velvet ears to listen,
And comb her memory with restless searching.
When my wife died, I wept but felt no wound,
But now, with donkey gone, my soul is riven—
His passing draws a grief that fills my frame,
Each vein resounds with mournful tributary.
What voice he bore—a bell in summer dusk—
He sang, a tenor in the wild wind’s choir,
O donkey, deep inside my chest—my heart’s own thistle-flower—
How shall I ever let your shadow fade?
And when he sang, the air grew silver—
Iiiiha iha iha
O donkey, deep inside my chest—my heart’s own thistle-flower—
How shall I ever let your shadow fade?