I am the Italian mourner
Curled up under the oak
In an imaginary cemetery where hardly anything but air is buried
Oh, I hope a war breaks out
I hope a tyrant intervenes
I love to cry with my brothers, yes it's very beautiful to see them do it

Cry Clara, cry
Cry Clara, cry

Give me a soldier to wait for
A reason for my tender heart
To blend into feelings, that's how it feels alive
My gloved hand holds the handkerchief
All wet from my despair
It's me sitting in front of everyone, like the coming night is dark

Cry Clara, cry
Cry Clara, cry

Cry Clara, cry
Cry Clara, cry

Cry Clara, cry
Cry Clara, cry

Cry Clara, cry
Cry Clara, cry

Cry Clara, cry
Clara

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