Lyrics of La corte dei miracoli - The Gang

La corte dei miracoli (original)

Era fame era sete
erano giorni di carestia
era la corte dei miracoli
era l’inverno e la malattia
era ordine e pulizia
era il tempio il supermercato
erano fantasmi che tornavano
era il futuro surgelato.
Era ancora l’assalto al treno
era l’imbroglio e la rovina
era la ruota della fortuna
era tutto come prima.
Erano in pochi erano in tanti
era la vecchia dinastia
era piccola e feroce
era la nuova borghesia.
Era una sporca camicia nera
mandata in lavanderia
era l’uomo dei miracoli
era di nuovo la nostalgia
Era il telepredicatore
era il servo e la catena
era l’inizio era la fine
era il rogo era la pena.
Era Arcore l’epidemia
era l’idiota l’ideologia
era vino che diventa aceto
era ancora piazzale Loreto
Erano in pochi erano in tanti
era la vecchia dinastia
era piccola e feroce
era la nuova borghesia.
Con Dio dall’altra parte
era un soldato mandato lontano
erano le borse dei mercati
era la notte
che scendeva piano
Era il feudo e il federale
era Pontida la capitale
era il girone dei barattieri
era la ciurma da tribunale
Era il vuoto e la vertigine
era il trionfo del carnevale
era l’ingorgo dei canali
la TV era la cattedrale.
Erano in pochi erano in tanti
era la vecchia dinastia
era piccola e feroce
era la nuova borghesia
che il vento tristo
che il vento tristo
che il vento tristo
se la porti via…

(translation)

He was hungry and thirsty
they were days of famine
it was the court of miracles
it was winter and sickness
it was order and cleanliness
the temple was the supermarket
they were ghosts returning
it was the frozen future.
It was still the assault on the train
it was cheating and ruin
it was the wheel of fortune
everything was as before.
They were few, they were many
it was the old dynasty
it was small and fierce
it was the new bourgeoisie.
It was a dirty black shirt
sent to laundry
he was the man of miracles
it was nostalgia again
He was the televangelist
he was the servant and the chain
it was the beginning it was the end
was the burning was the penalty.
Arcore was the epidemic
the ideology was the idiot
it was wine that becomes vinegar
it was still piazzale Loreto
They were few, they were many
it was the old dynasty
it was small and fierce
it was the new bourgeoisie.
With God on the other side
he was a soldier sent away
they were the market exchanges
it was night
which descended slowly
It was the fiefdom and the federal
the capital was Pontida
it was the group of barters
it was the court crew
It was the emptiness and vertigo
it was the triumph of the carnival
it was the traffic jam of the canals
the TV was the cathedral.
They were few, they were many
it was the old dynasty
it was small and fierce
it was the new bourgeoisie
that the sad wind
that the sad wind
that the sad wind
if you take her away...