Jones the player

In a whirl of dust the others saw drought,

to me this recalled Jenny's skirt,

in a dance of many years ago.

I felt my land vibrating of sounds: it was my heart

so why to farm it again,

how could I think it better?

Freedom, I saw her sleeping in fields cultivated

with air and money, with heaven and love,

protected by a barbed wire fence.

Freedom, I saw her waking up every time I played

for a rustle of girls at a dance

for a drunk fellow.

And then people know it, and people know that you can play,

to play you must for a whole lifetime

and you enjoy to be listened to.

He ended leaving the fields to the nettle, he ended up with a broken flute

and a husky laughter and many memories

and not a single regret.

Πρωτότυποι στίχοι

Il suonatore Jones

Fabrizio De André: Κορυφαία 3

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