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HH from the Italian Diaspora

La Pina — Piovono Angeli (1998)

Raining Angels (Italian original)
Translation by Ludo and Lucia from Rome, and Joe Sciorra

It's raining angels
their wings break
they stopped searching and they despise themselves,
they fall and you can't stop them,
they don't hear you if you talk to them
they've turned into bastards
life's eaten their souls,
if you call them, they slide away like tears,
and while I beat my wings, my heart bleeds
and that which could have been, won't be
there's a wound that doesn't heal
and you can't pretend that it doesn't exist
the traitor will carry the stigma of that punishment,
so that all the promises that weren't kept
will fall heavily at the betrayer's
mute faces burst like bombs and run away like cowards
they enjoy it when you look as them suffering
they'd like to stop but can't.

Now that it's dark, the night falls on the wings,
there are angels who fall into the emptiness, into the emptiness.

Day after day I help this macabre show
knowing that miracles are not possible
and that the wings will keep on breaking, century after century
Judas will always be among the apostles
The strong will eat the weak and so on and so on
but if you are alone when the time comes,
you need to continue the flight
and they're falling now but it's too easy for them to go back
it's in the day to day that you find out what it cost to get knocked down and then to get back up
and to find yourself naked without any secrets
the humiliation rips your pride to pieces
but I take what I want
because there's too much mud on the trajectory, air pockets
the story is not exactly what we expected
and now you're dragged down
and I can't help you any longer
maybe we'll meet again on the other side.

Now that it's dark, the night falls on the wings,
there are angels who fall into the emptiness, into the emptiness.

They're angels that are rotting and they're falling.
They've forgotten their talents, snakes without poison
losers who have filled themselves up,
who think of themselves as possessed,
but who are just excess in a chronic state of catalepsy
(look up)
there are too many for one sky, too many to seem real
too many to challenge the mystery of a cobalt blue,
it takes more than one jump not to eat the asphalt,
there's a sterile rain just when you hope
the water will help the sap flow again
but now it's too late and I don't have any more weapons
there's nothing left to do but count
1, 2, 3, 4, 5 ....

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