Translation of lyrics to "Bocca di Rosa"by Fabrizio de Andre
They called her « bocca di rosa » [Rose lips]
She placed love, she placed love,
They called her “bocca di rosa”
She place love above everything
As soon as she stepped out at the station
In the village of Sant’Ilario
Everyone figured out with a single glance
That she was not a missionary
There are those who make love out of boredom
There are those who choose it as a profession
Bocca di rosa was neither of these
She did it for the love of it
However, passion often leads one
To satisfy ones own needs
Without looking into whether the object of ones affection
Is a free spirit or has a wife
And so it was that from one day to the next
Bocca di rosa incurred the wrath
Of those dogs
From whom she had stolen the bone.
But village wives
Are certainly not very inventive
Up until that point, the retaliations
Had been limited to insults
Now, we well know that people give good advice,
Feeling somewhat like Jesus in the temple
Now, we well know that people give good advice,
When they no longer are able to give a bad example For this reason, an old lady who had never been married
Never had had children, and no longer had any desire,
She took the trouble, and certainly the pleasure,
To give to each and everyone the right advice
And addressing herself to the wronged wives
She regaled them with witty words:
“Crimes of passion will be punished,”
she said, “by the powers that be”.
And the womenfolk went to see the police commissioner
And stated without beating around the bush :
“That awful woman already has too many clients,
Many more than she needs for her daily bread”. So four policemen arrived
Armed with plumes
So four policemen arrived
Armed with plumes and with weapons A soft heart is not a gift
With which military police are customarily endowed
But on that occasion, when she took the train,
They accompanied her against their will At the station everyone was lined up
From the police commissioner to the sexton
At the station everyone was lined up
With their eyes red and their cap in hand
To greet her who not long ago
Without any pretensions
To greet her who not long ago
Brought love into the village. There was a yellow board
With black handwriting on it
It said, « Farewell, bocca di rosa
Spring is leaving with you”
But, when there is interesting news,
It doesn’t need any newspaper
Just like an arrow from a taut bow
It rapidly flies from one mouth to another
And at the next station stop,
There were many more people awaiting her than had been there at her departure
Some blew kisses, some threw flowers,
And some booked her for two hours.
Even the parish priest did not disdain,
Between a Miserere and an extreme unction,
The ephemeral good of the beauty,
And wanted her beside him in the town procession.
And with the Virgin at the head of the procession
And Bocca di Rosa a little way back
Both sacred and profane love
Wandered through the village
