The fingers are polished
on every bud that has not been plucked,
while the cold has woken up,
the hands are hardening.
they are traps that have been planted,
trying not to lose track
of those that want to touch the ground.
And at breakfast time...
We want bread with oil,
we want bread with oil,
if they don't give us...
We won't harvest!
The trunks of trees lenaris
that one must dig
to harvest the best fruit
of Mediterranean food.
Those sacks by the wall
full of olives that one loved ,
they are the great little treasure
that we took to the mill.
So at lunchtime...
We want bread with oil,
we want bread with oil,
if they don't give us...
We won't eat!
Already the light is going out
and the forces we have exhausted,
renew that oil
that has been leaking from the mill.
And at dinner time...
We want bread with oil,
bread with oil we want,
we want bread with oil,
bread with oil we want,
we want bread with oil
bread with oil we want,
If they don't give us...
We won't keep quiet!
If they don't give us some...
We won't keep quiet!

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