I drink to home, that is lost,
to evil life of mine,
to loneness in which we’re both,
and to your future, fine, —
to lips by which I was betrayed,
to eyes that deathly cold,
to that that the world is bad and that
we were not saved by God.
Bevo a una casa distrutta,
alla mia vita sciagurata,
a solitudini vissute in due
e bevo anche a te:
all’inganno di labbra che
tradirono,
al morto gelo dei tuoi occhi,
ad un mondo crudele e rozzo,
ad un Dio che non ci ha
salvato.
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