Francesco Guccini
Miscellaneous
The Locomotive
I don't know what his face was, nor what his name was
what voice he spoke with, what voice he sang with
how old he looked then , what color is his hair
but in my imagination I have his image,
the heroes are all young and beautiful
the heroes are all young and beautiful
the heroes are all young and beautiful.
I know the time of the facts, what his profession was:
the early years of the century, train driver, railway worker
The times in which the holy war of the beggars began
the train also seemed to be a myth of progress,
launched over the continents
launched over the continents
launched over the continents.
And the locomotive seemed to be a strange monster
that man dominated with thought and with his hand
roaring it left behind distances that seemed infinite
it seemed to have a tremendous power inside ,
The same strength as dynamite
The same strength as dynamite
The same strength as dynamite.
But another great force then spread his wings
words that said: him men I am everyone equal
and against kings and tyrants the proletarian bomb exploded in the street, and lit up the air
the torch of anarchy
the torch of anarchy
the torch of anarchy.
A train passed through his station every day
a luxury train, a distant destination
he saw revered people, he thought of those velvets, the golds
he thought of the meager day of his people around,
thought a train full of gentlemen
thought a train full of gentlemen
thought a train full of gentlemen.
I don't know what happened, why he made the decision
maybe an ancient anger, nameless generations
who screamed revenge, blinded his heart
he forgot mercy, he forgot his goodness ,
The bomb is the steam engine
The bomb is the steam engine
The bomb is the steam engine.
And on the track was the locomotive
the pulsating machine seemed to be a living thing
it looked like a young colt who had just released the brake
was biting the rail with steel muscles,
with blind force of flash
with blind force of flash
with blind force of flash.
And a day like any other, but perhaps with more anger in his body
he thought he had a way to right some wrong
he climbed onto the monster that was sleeping, he tried to chase away his fear
And before he thought about what he was going to do,
The monster devoured the plain
The monster devoured the plain
The monster devoured the plain.
The other train was running along unaware, almost without haste
no one imagined they were going towards revenge
but at the Bologna station the news arrived in a flash:
emergency news, act urgently,
a madman threw himself at the train
a madman threw himself at the train
a madman threw himself at the train.
But the locomotive runs, runs, runs, runs
and the steam hisses, it almost seems like a living thing
and it seems to say to the bent peasants, that whistle that spreads in the air
brother don't be afraid that I run to my duty
May proletarian justice triumph
May proletarian justice triumph
May proletarian justice triumph.
And he runs, runs, runs, runs faster and stronger
and runs, runs, runs towards death
and nothing can now hold back the immense destructive force
just wait for the crash and then for it to arrive the mantle
of the great consoler
of the great consoler
of the great consoler.
The story tells us how the race ended
the car diverted along a dead line
with its last animal cry the car erupted lapilli and lava
exploded against the sky , then the smoke spread the veil
they picked him up while he was still breathing
they picked him up while he was still breathing
they picked him up while he was still breathing.
But we like to think of him still behind the engine
while he makes the steam engine run away
and that one day the news will reach us again
of a locomotive as a living thing,
bomb dropped against injustice.
bomb dropped against injustice.
bomb dropped against injustice.

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