Дети Савонаролы [Deti Savonaroly] [English translation]

They are staring, standing closely,

There is hatred in their eyes.

It’s not just a bonfire –

And not just smoke in the sky.

They gather words,

They interpret them into their own language –

And a philosopher’s head

Is lying in pitchy mud.

Young fangs

Lust for flabbiness of the necks,

This way old men frazzle out

With the pathos of silly speeches.

Soon children will fill

The toothless pathetic mouths with sand,

And having sneaked, will push pikes

Through the shaky floor having fun,

To make the prophet feel totally tormented

On the way to the place of execution.

(Fra Girolamo Savonarola)

(Fra Girolamo Savonarola)

To make the prophet feel totally tormented

On the way to the place of execution,

The annoying teacher-prophet,

Fra Girolamo Savonarola.

(Fra Girolamo Savonarola)

But until then…

[Choir:]

This host is holy,

This army is pure.

Kneel down, sinner,

And shut up. So be it!

And shut up. So be it!

When we are fed up, we’ll easily turn time back,

When we are fed up, we’ll start to play our games.

Who taught us will beg for mercy,

But we don’t care,

But we don’t care.

March, march, the army of children of Savonarola,

March, march, the army of children of Savonarola.

March, march, the army of children of Savonarola,

March, march, the army of children of Savonarola.

Naive angels, not slayers, not thieves,

March, march, the soldiers of teacher Savonarola…

March, march, the army of children of Savonarola,

March, march, the army of children of Savonarola.

March, march, the army of children of Savonarola,

March, march, the army of children of Savonarola.