TRAMONTANA (B.G.)

One Chinese was a master of the underground singing.
He was singing only ditties.
Every Thursday he went to the tea house, 
Where two sisters-laughers waited for him.
He was singing when him they were dressing;
He was singing when him they were burying;
When the repertory has ended,
He said: Now to me is not a place in the grave.

Life is crawling like a snake in the grass
While we sing and dance in a ring around the fountain
Now you are in the position of kings
But what you will dance
When from behind the mountains
Will start to blow tramontana

One woman taught the language of Atlantis,
Sitting on the roof.
Neighbors saw how every night
Yogis and bats fly together to her.
One priest joined with her in dispute;
He secretly always wanted her body;
When he pulled out his argument,
She laughed, she flew away…

Life is crawling like a snake in the grass
While we sing and dance in a ring around the fountain
Now you are in the position of kings
But what you will dance
When from behind the mountains
Will start to blow tramontana

One sailor restored antique furniture
And he took a sip with her grief
Every night he went down to the garage
And he was digging underground passage to get to the sea
Thirty years – he finished digging
He came out somewhere in the desert
He fell on his knees in the salty waves
And he clung to them his lips, as if to a shrine

Life is crawling like a snake in the grass
While we sing and dance in a ring around the fountain
Now you are in the position of kings
But what you will dance
When from behind the mountains
Will start to blow tramontana…





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