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He probably got out closing the green door behind his shoulders, 
Someone in the meanwhile had got up to prepare him a barley coffee 
I don’t know if he turn’d, he was no man so easily lost in regret 
Regret is for the rich, and he went on his way without effort 
When I got to know him, my first image was that of an old man 
Or he look’d old to me, but at that time I was still a young child 
I was struck by his bald head and by a mysterious, strange thing 
A truss that made him look like a cop with his gun in the holster 
But he did feel that morning something new towards his family home 
And not to think of it, he had drunken wine for his first time 
Hard words to his father, with hunger and escapes in the background 
And as for his work, he was a prey to his ancient fatalism 
But he was twenty years old, and there was no wrinkle on his front 
But anger and adventure, and some vague ideas of socialism 
He already got on his face the oil smell and saltiness of Le Havre 
He already got in his mouth the dusty smell of blown up mines. 
America was in my thought Roosevelt’s GIs, the Fifth Army, 
America was Atlantis, America was my heart and my destiny 
America was "Life" with its clean-toothed smiles on glossy paper 
America, the phantastic, mysterious dreamland of Donald Duck 
At that time I saw America as a blessed nation, a world of peace, 
A paradise lost in  sharp melancholy, a slow neurosis 
And Gunga-Din and Ringo, the heroes of Casablanca and Fort Apache 
A dream lull’d by the obsessive and incessant sound of Limentra 
I don’t know what he was feeling when New York appeared from the ship 
A forest of skyscrapers, a town of shit and streets, cries, a castle! 
And Pāvana, only a memory left in chestnut woods of the Appennines 
English sounded strange to him and pierced him in the breast like a dagger 
And ev’ry day he had to work hard and sweat blood from dawn till sunset 
Years and years like in jail, beer, prostitutes, hard days 
Irishmen and Negroes, Poles and Italians in the coal mines 
Sweat and anthracite in Pennsylvania, Arkansas, Texas, Missouri... 
He came back, as many would do, with his nest-egg and his youth lost in vain 
America was only a corner, America was only a shadowy haze 
America was a hernia, a dirty trick like any that life plays on 
And saying "boss" for "capo", and "ton" for "tonnellata", "rifle" for "fucile". 
When I got to know him my first image was that of an old man 
As any young man does, I used to pass by without stopping and looking 
And I couldn’t understand, that man was my own face reflect’d in a mirror 
Untill the time will come, that we’ll meet again despite of a’ things 
Untill the time will come, that we’ll meet again despite of a’ things 
Untill the time will come, that we’ll meet again despite of a’ things!