Crêuza de mä [English translation]

Shadows of faces, faces of seamen,

where do you come from, where are you going to?

From where the moon is naked

and the night’s like a knife on our throats

and where only God has remained to ride a donkey;

the devil’s in heaven and has made itself a nest there;

let’s leave the sea to dry our bones at Andrea’s

at the well of the pigeons, in a house of stone.

And who are there in that house of stone,

in the house of Andrea who’s not a seaman?

People of Lugano, faces of pickpockets,

those who prefer wings to fins,

good smelling girls of good families,

good to look at without a rubber.

And what has he got to offer to fill these empty stomachs?

Something to drink, something to eat,

fried fish, white Portofino wine,

lamb brain in that same wine,

lasagna with four sauces,

and sweet-sour roof-hare pie.

And with a ship of wine we sail against the cliffs,

emigrants of laughter with nails in our eyes,

until the morning grows in order for us to catch it,

brother of the carnations and girls,

master of the rope - spoiled by water and salt -

that ties us and leads us on a pathway to the sea.