I am the Italian mourner
Curled up under the oak
From an imaginary cemetery
Where we bury only air
Oh as long as a war explodes
Provided that a tyrant intervenes
I love so much crying with my brothers
Yes it's very beautiful to see them doing
Cry Clara, cry
Cry Clara, cry
Give me a soldier to wait
A reason for my tender heart
To be confused in feelings
That's how he feels alive
My gloved hand holds the handkerchief
All wet of my despair
It's me sitting in front of everyone
Like the coming night is dark
Cry Clara, cry
Cry Clara, cry
Cry Clara, cry
Cry Clara, cry
Cry Clara, cry
Cry Clara, cry
Cry Clara, cry
Cry Clara, cry
Cry Clara, cry
Clara