Pleure Clara, Pleure

I am the Italian mourner
Cuddled beneath the oak
In an imaginary cemetery
Where little more than air is buried
Oh, if only a war would break out
If only a tyrant would intervene
I love to weep with my brothers
Yes, it's so beautiful to see them

Weep, Clara, weep
Weep, Clara, weep

Give me a soldier to wait for
A reason for my tender heart
To be overwhelmed by feelings
That's how it feels alive

My gloved hand holds the handkerchief
Soaked with my despair
It's me, sitting before everyone
How dark the coming night is

Weep, Clara, weep
Weep, Clara, weep

Weep, Clara, weep
Weep, Clara, weep

Weep, Clara, weep
Weep, Clara, weep

Weep, Clara, weep
Weep, Clara, weep

Weep, Clara, weep