Cristoforo Colombo [English translation]

He is already tired of wandering under an exhausted sky

for that kingdom overlooking the sea, threatened by the Moors

and of land he's had enough, not so of sails and prow,

because he's found a road of stars in the sky of his soul.

He feels he can’t fail again, he’ll discover a new world;

the waiting makes him afraid he'll already hit rock bottom.

He doesn’t lack the courage or the strength to live that madness

and even without a crew, even if it were a mirage, now he will sail.

And the Spain of sword and cross reconquers Granada,

with gypsy guitars and flamenco makes every street resound;

Isabel is the great queen of the Guadalquivir1

but, like him, she is a woman convinced that the world can’t end there.

His mind is already set on the feat in the deep ocean,

she granted some caravels and a crew for the dreadful journey,

to search for a distant and uncertain world that he isn't certain exists

but it's already dawn and on the dock he is embraced by a torrent of nostalgia.

And he sails, sails away

toward a world that’s still inconceivable by every theory,

he sails, sails away

in his heart the Niña, the Pinta and the Santa Maria.

He has already sailed the bitter Atlantic in vain a month,

but he continues towards the unknown with a privateering gaze;

maybe it’s an absurd battle, but you can’t ignore it

that the Absurd challenges us to press on to be proud of ourselves.

Many times has he defied fate clinging to a piece of wood,

without a homeland, he swears in Latin, commits himself to drinking

luckily the wine isn't lacking and turns the cowardice

of a rebellious and already tired crew into an island of companionship.

And he sails, sails away

on the prow that rears violently leaving a trail,

he sails, sails away

in his heart the Niña, the Pinta and the Santa Maria.

He had never felt so alone as he did in that moment

but from living in the sea he learned not to give up;

it will end that he’ll crash into that horizon, if there isn’t a land,

he shouts: “All hands on deck, mates, you must trust me!"

Although that glassy sunset doesn’t seem to break,

but hunger and regret expect them if they'd return back

right now that only a breath is missing to reach the truth,

that world that perhaps as a lighthouse has a torch of freedom.

And he sails, sails there

as well as the soul, even before birth, is already sailing,

he sails, he sails but

that ocean is made of dreams and sand

then a fog curtain rises

and just like an illusory circus, America shines.

Where the dream of gold created beggars of sense

floating blankly in the void, hungry for immensity,

there, Babelian crystal towers, even higher than the sky,

make your heart undergo a standstill, like to an Icarus in flight.

Where from a jail to an asbestos moon there’s a “dead man walking”,

where on the Thanksgiving Day there’s a turkey in the kitchen,

and while deafening swarms of aircrafts surround it with webs,

that useless and bitter America weighs anchor and sets its sails.

And he sails, sails away

as far as possible from that deafening lie,

he sails, sails away,

in his heart the Niña, the Pinta and the Santa Maria.

1. The Guadalquivir is a river that runs through Andalusia, in the south of the Iberian Peninsula.

• Artist:Francesco Guccini