The dolphins go dance on the beaches
The elephants go dance in unknown cemeteries
The clouds go dance at the horizon.
The trains go dance in the museums with fee
And you, where do you go dance?
Come and dance in Puglia (Italian region)
I tremble like a leaf, leaf, leaf.
You keep your head up when you pass by the crane
because it may happen for it to detach and fall down
Hey, tourist, I know you stop in this historical place.
Pay attention! You step over the pass but this land sends you to caos.
You want to breathe the iodine in the Adriatic and Ionian Seas
but here in the golf stinks of sulphur, 'cause the devil is about to come.
Scarry tanning because of the dioxin produced by ILVA
Here you get more red dots than Milva has and then you look like Pimpa.
In the area they sell the best death (reffering to the pollution)
You can find there the one who smoked poison at ENI (Italian energy company)
the one who worked and went in a coma.
Even Gargano smokes with all those forests on fire.
Tourist, you dance and sing while I count the dead people of this country.
Where those sly men who build up companies don't care about the costs,
they think The Kyoto Protocol is a Japanese erotic movie.
Come and dance in Puglia
where the night is dark, dark, dark.
If you close your eyelids you don't get to reopen them.
Come and dance and scratch your back too
because you have to dance in Puglia
I tremble like a leaf
perche puo capitare che si stacchi e venga giu.
It's true, here we throw parties, people are depressed and wasted.
I have a friend who had to get a job in a factory in order to be able to commit suicide
Between a stake that falls and tube that blows up
in that bedlam those who work get bumped off and those who don't, buy drugs
and make something they can base on until they clutter up the tomb.
'Come and dance' in the tomatoes fields
the Mafia enslaves the workers, and if you rise against you get out.
Romanians piled in cubby-holes like peeled tomatoes in cans.
Forced to put up with the blackmailing of the big (important) people, as big as confetti.
Tourist, you stay with the sandals, don't make a scandal if we are ungrateful
and if we've forgotten that we are sons of emigrants.
Mortified, we won't ruin your trip.
Go, come to Puglia, come to a better life.
Come and dance in Puglia
where the night is dark, dark, dark.
If you close your eyelids you don't get to reopen them.
Come and dance and scratch your back too
because you have to dance in Puglia
where the hangman is waiting for you.
At the corners of the streets there are swords bigger than king Arthurs'
the abyss opens and you go directly to Hell (to Belzebut/the Devil)
Oh, Puglia of mine
I always carry you inside my heart when I go away
and I think straightaway that I could die without you.
And I think straightaway that I could die even with you.