Woorden: Ianva. Other. The Ballad Of The Ardito.

Sharing my acquavite* and my strong cut-tobacco
On the tableland, at dawn
A lieutenant taken prisoner and I sunk
Into the silence of that winter calm.
The clear air of the peaks wouldn?t carry that stench
Which was familiar to both of us,
The stench of a young Europe caught in barbed wire,
Rotting like manure.

But If I led you, it was because of my desperation
Not fearless impetuousness, but only indifference.
And if I?ve ever been bold*, it was because I?ve been wounded for a long time
And I was waiting for the moment of my ultimate discharge,
Of the definitive Belief of he who feels nothing but disgust.

The battle of Solstice heralded itself with a dreadful roar
Running along the entire front.
The perfect day to die, just the right one instilling its light upon the world
For a very long time.
I led the guys outside, singing the bitter lyrics of the blame I?ve learnt
In narrow lanes close to port.
Relying on the fact that it's Fate picking us up in handfuls,
Would have at least righted all wrongs.

But even though we were praised, and declared heroes
A treaty betrayed our blood.
And for all those who became dung, only a royal dispatch of vile condolences.
So I took the liberty of challenging the Power
Of the Hand which was plotting respectably and in silence, strangling the people with golden chains,
And not of enemies who were bleeding just as we were bleeding.
And now I?m wandering, trying to request an audience with the one and only Superior...
- ?Major Renzi! Presente!***?