Lacrime Napulitane - Massimo Ranieri w/Translation

PLEASE NOTE: I HAVE ADDED SUBTITLES CLICK ON "CC"
This is a passionate song about a man that has left his home in Naples to come to America.
He writes his mother about how desperately lonely he is .
How he misses his family and how it is so painful to be away from home.
And all for what? For money.
The money he needs to support his family.
He cries - the cost is great. His children miss their mother who has returned to Italy.
Oh how he wishes he could be under the skies of his beloved Naples. He says: "This bread I Must Swallow is Bitter"
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Here we are, almost a hundred years later.
I don't think we can conceive just how hard it was.
To pick up ones life and belongings and travel far away to a strange land with a strange language and try to build a new life.
THAT WAS COURAGE.
We owe them so much.
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eccoci qua quasi cent'anni dopo... credo che noi non possiamo concepire quanto possa essere stato duro... caricarsi le proprie cose e le proprie vite per fare un viaggio così lungo per una strana terra con una strana lingua, e provare a costruire una nuova vita. QUESTO ERA CORAGGIO. noi gli dobbiamo tantissimo.

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LACREME NAPULITANE BY Bovio & Buongiovanni
(Neapolitan Tears)
Mia cara madre,
sta pe' trasí Natale,
e a stá luntano cchiù mme sape amaro....
Comme vurría allummá duje o tre biangale...
comme vurría sentí nu zampugnaro!...

A 'e ninne mieje facitele 'o presebbio
e a tavula mettite 'o piatto mio...
facite, quann'è 'a sera d''a Vigilia
comme si 'mmiez'a vuje stesse pur'io...

E nce ne costa lacreme st'America
a nuje Napulitane!...
Pe' nuje ca ce chiagnimmo 'o cielo 'e Napule,
comm'è amaro stu ppane!

Mia cara madre,
che só, che só 'e denare?
Pe' chi se chiagne 'a Patria, nun só niente!
Mo tengo quacche dollaro, e mme pare
ca nun só' stato maje tanto pezzente!

Mme sonno tutt''e nnotte 'a casa mia
e d''e ccriature meje ne sento 'a voce...
ma a vuje ve sonno comm'a na "Maria"...
cu 'e spade 'mpietto, 'nnanz'ô figlio 'ncroce!

E nce ne costa lacreme st'America...ece

Mm'avite scritto
ch'Assuntulella chiamma
chi ll'ha lassata e sta luntana ancora...
Che v'aggi''a dí? Si 'e figlie vònno 'a mamma,
facítela turná chella "signora".

Io no, nun torno...mme ne resto fore
e resto a faticá pe' tuttuquante.
I', ch'aggio perzo patria, casa e onore,
i só carne 'e maciello: Só emigrante!

E nce ne costa lacreme st'America...ece
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My Translation:
My dear mother,
Christmas is approaching,
being away has a bitter taste ...
How I would like to see the fireworks ...
and hear the music...

to see my children in the crib
and put food on my plate ...
on Christmas Eve,
as if I were there with you ...

there are tears in this America
we Neapolitans mourn the sky of Naples,
how bitter is this bread!

My dear mother,
why is this, what is this money?
We mourn for our country, we are nothing!
Now I have a few dollars, but I think
that have never been so poor!

I dream every night of my home
and I hear the voices of my children ...
but you dream as a "Mary" ...
with swords in your chest,
facing your son on the cross!

there are tears in this America
we Neapolitans mourn the sky of Naples,
how bitter is this bread!

I have written that little Assunta
asks, why has [her mother] left
and gone so far away?
What can I say?
The children want their mother,
make her return.
Not me, I will not return I will stay away
to work for everyone.
I have lost my country, my home, my honor,
I am a meat slaughter: I am an immigrant!

there are tears in this America
we Neapolitans mourn the sky of Naples,
how bitter is this bread!
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