And the band played Waltzing Mathilda

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Testo Della Canzone

And the band played Waltzing Mathilda di Canzoni politiche

(Eric Bogle)
Anno 1972

Now when I was a young man
I carried me pack
And I lived the free life of the rover.
From the Murray’s green basin
to the dusty outback,
Well, I waltzed my Matilda all over.

Then in 1915, my country said,
“Son,It’s time you stop ramblin’,
there’s work to be done.”
So they gave me a tin hat,
and they gave me a gun,
And they marched me away to the war.
And the band played “Waltzing Matilda,”
As the ship pulled away from the quay,
And amidst all the cheers,
the flag waving, and tears,
We sailed off for Gallipoli.

And how well I remember
that terrible day,
How our blood stained
the sand and the water;
And of how in that hell
that they call Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs
at the slaughter.
Johnny Turk, he was waitin’,
he primed himself well;
He showered us with bullets,
and he rained us with shell —
And in five minutes flat,
he’d blown us all to hell,
Nearly blew us right back to Australia.
But the band played “Waltzing Matilda,”
When we stopped to bury our slain,
Well, we buried ours,
and the Turks buried theirs,
Then we started all over again.

And those that were left, well,
we tried to survive
In that mad world of blood,
death and fire.
And for ten weary weeks
I kept myself alive
Though around me the corpses
piled higher.
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me a
rse over head,
And when I woke up in me hospital bed
And saw what it had done,
well, I wished I was dead —
Never knew there was worse things
than dying.
For I’ll go no more “Waltzing Matilda,”
All around the green bush far and free —
To hump tents and pegs,
a man needs both legs,
No more “Waltzing Matilda” for me.

So they gathered the crippled,
the wounded, the maimed,
And they shipped us back home
to Australia.
The armless, the legless,
the blind, the insane,
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla.
And as our ship sailed into Circular Quay,
I looked at the place
where me legs used to be,
And thanked Christ there was
nobody waiting for me,
To grieve, to mourn and to pity.
But the band played “Waltzing Matilda,”
As they carried us down the gangway,
But nobody cheered,
they just stood and stared,
Then they turned all their faces away.

And so now every April,
I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade
pass before me.
And I see my old comrades,
how proudly they march,
Reviving old dreams of past glory,
And the old men march slowly,
all bones stiff and sore
They’re tired old heroes
from a forgotten war
And the young people ask
“What are they marching for?”
And I ask meself the same question.
But the band plays “Waltzing Matilda,”
And the old men still answer the call,
But as year follows year,
more old men disappear
Someday, no one will march there at all.

Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda.
Who’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?
And their ghosts may be heard
as they march by the billabong,
Who’ll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me?

====================================
Quando ero giovane me ne andavo a giro col mio fagotto
e vivevo la vita libera del vagabondo.
Dalle foreste di Murray all’entroterra polveroso
beh, me la ballavo proprio tutta, la mia Matilda.

Nel 1915 il mio paese ha detto: “Ragazzo, adesso
smettila di girovagare, c’è da fare un po’ di lavoro.”
Cosi’ mi han dato un elmetto e un fucile
e mi hanno obbligato a marciare per la guerra.
E la banda suonava “Waltzing Matilda”
Mentre la nave si muoveva dal molo,
E fra i saluti, le bandiere sventolanti e le lacrime
salpammo per Gallipoli.

Ricordo benissimo quel giorno terribile
e come il nostro sangue macchiò l’acqua e la sabbia;
e come, in quell’inferno chiamato Baia di Süvla
fummo massacrati come agnelli al mattatoio.
I turchi ci aspettavano, caricaron bene le armi;
ci investirono di pallottole, una pioggia di proiettili —
e in cinque minuti appena ci spediron tutti all’inferno,
dai colpi quasi ci rimandarono indietro in Australia.
Ma la banda suonava “Waltzing Matilda”,
e quando finimmo di seppellire i nostri morti,
e, beh, noi seppellimmo i nostri e i Turchi i loro,
tutto ricominciò daccapo.

Noi che eravamo rimasti, cercammo di sopravvivere
in quel manicomio di sangue, morte e fuoco.
Per dieci orribili settimane ce la feci a restar vivo
sebbene attorno a me si accatastassero i cadaveri.
Poi un grosso proiettile turco mi colpì mandandomi col culo all’aria
e mi risvegliai in un letto di ospedale
vedendo quel che aveva fatto – beh, desiderai essere morto,
non sapevo che c’eran cose peggiori della morte.
Perché non andrò mai più a ballare “Waltzing Matilda”
vicino alla macchia libera e lontana –
per issare tende e paletti ci voglion tutte e due le gambe,
e per me niente più “Waltzing Matilda”.

Raccolsero gli storpi, i feriti, i mutilati
e ci rimandarono a casa, in Australia.
Quelli senza braccia, senza gambe, i ciechi e gli impazziti,
quei prodi eroi feriti alla baia di Süvla.
E mentre la nave entrava nel Circular Quay
guardai là, dove una volta avevo le gambe
e ringraziai Iddio di non aver nessuno che mi aspettasse
a piangere, a disperarsi ed a provar pietà.
Ma la banda suonava “Waltzing Matilda”
mentre ci portavano giù per la passerella
e nessuno più salutava allegro, stavano in piedi e ci fissavano
e poi tutti quanti si girarono dall’altra parte.

E adesso, ogni mese di aprile, siedo nel mio portico
e guardo la parata che mi sfila davanti.
Guardo marciare fieramente i miei vecchi compagni
che ravvivano vecchi sogni di gloria passata.
E quei vecchi marcian piano con le ossa rigide e malandate,
sono dei vecchi eroi stanchi di una guerra dimenticata.
E i giovani domandano: “Per cosa stanno marciando?”
Ed io, io mi chiedo la stessa cosa.
Ma la banda suona “Waltzing Matilda”,
ed i vecchi ancora rispondono all’appello;
Ma col passar degli anni, sempre più vecchi muoiono
e un giorno nessuno marcerà più.

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda.
Chi verrà a ballare Waltzing Matilda con me?
E si sentono i loro fantasmi marciare vicino al billabong,
Chi verrà a ballare Waltzing Matilda con me?

Il testo contenuto in questa pagina è di proprietà dell’autore. WikiTesti è un’enciclopedia musicale con lo scopo di far conoscere a quante più persone possibile il panorama musicale.

[nextpage title=”Accordi per chitarra”]

Accordi

     
A A A
             D            A
When I was a young man, I carried my pack.
                     E          A
And I lived the free life, of a rover.
         E              D
From the Murray's green basin,
       A
To the dusty outback,
             E           A
I waltzed my matilda all over.
          E      D            A
Then in 1915, my country said "son"
       E           D
"It's time to stop rambling,"
             A
"Cos there's work to be done."
                   D
So they gave me a tin hat,
                   A
And they gave me a gun,
                 E            A
And they sent me away to the war.


                     D        A
And the band played Waltzing Matilda,
              D            E
As we sailed away from the quay.
      D
And amidst all the cheers,
         A
And the shouts and the tears,
                  E       A
We sailed off for Galipoli


           D             A
How well I remember that terrible day,
                           E            A
when the blood stained the sand and the water.
     E          D
And how in that hell 
          A
that they called Souvla Bay
                       E            A
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
       E          D           A
Johnny Turkey was ready, He'd primed himself well.
   E                D
He showered us with bullets,
       A
And he rained us with shells.
                    D
And in five minutes flat,
           A
he'd blown us all to hell.
       E                     A
Nearly blew us right back to Australia.

                    D        A
And the band played Waltzing Matilda,
                 D        E
As we stopped to bury our slain.
    D
And we buried ours 
        A
and the Turks buried theirs,
                   E    A
And it started all over again.

                   D                 A
Now those who were living, Did their best to survive,
        E                             A
In that mad world of guts, blood, and fire.
        E          D
And for seven long weeks,
  A
I kept myself alive,
       E                       A
As the corpses around me piled higher.
       E           D                 A
Then a big Turkish shell, Knocked me arse over tit.
    E      D
And when I awoke
        A
in my hospital bed,
                    D
And saw what it had done,
         A
Christ I wished I was dead.
      E                                 A
Never knew there were worse things than dying.

                    D        A
And no more I'll go Waltzing Matilda,
                    D          E
To the green bushes so far and near.
       D
For to hang tent and pegs
  A
A man needs two legs.
                 E           A
No more Waltzing Matilda for me.

                      D             A
So they collected the crippled, The wounded and maimed,
                      E       A
And they sent us back home to Australia.
    E            D
The legless, the armless,
    A
the blind and insane.
      E                       A
Those proud wounded heroes of Souvla
    E           D           A
And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay
  E             D
I looked at the place 
         A
where my legs used to be.
                            D
And thank Christ, there was nobody 
A
waiting for me,
   E                          A
To grieve and to mourn and to pity.

                    D        A
And the band played Waltzing Matilda,
                   D            E
As they carried us down the gangway.
    D
But nobody cheered,
     A
They just stood and stared,
         E                  A
And they turned their faces away.

              D        A
And now every April, I sit on my porch,
      E                      A
And I watch the parades pass before me.
  E          D
I see my old comrades,
    A
How proudly they march.
  E                         A
Reliving the dreams of past glory.
  E           D        A
I see the old men, all twisted and torn.
    E         D
The forgotten heroes
     A
of a forgotten war.
                     D
And the young people ask me,
         A
What are they marching for?
    E                      A
And I ask my self the same question.

                   D        A
And the band plays Waltzing Matilda,
                      D          E
And the old men still answer the call.
    D
But year after year,
      A
Their numbers get fewer,
                    E           A
Someday no-one will march there at all.

A                 D
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
A                                  E
Who'll come a waltzing matilda with me?

Outro:  A A E A

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