Santa Lucia, for all those who have eyes
and a heart that's not enough for their eyes
and for the tranquility of the one who goes on the sea
and for each tear on your dress
for who hasn't understood yet
Santa Lucia, for the one who drinks at night
and dies at night, and reads at night
and falls on his last metre
for the friends who go away and turn back
upon having lost their soul and their wings
For the one who lives at the crossroads of the winds
and is burnt alive
for the easygoing people who never have a doubt
for our crown of stars and thorns
for our fear of darkness and fantasy
Santa Lucia, the violin of the needy is a ship whose bottom has broken
and a little boy who sings on the second floor,
laughing and singing out of tune to go away
making sweet even the rain in his shoes