Il Piccolo Naviglio

Once upon a time, there was a little boat.

Once upon a time, there was a little boat
that couldn’t sail at all,
it was a mile away from the shore,
it saw the harbor but couldn’t dock anymore.

Yet it had all the gear in place,
including the keel and the helm,
but try as they might, they couldn’t find a way
to get that damn hunk of junk to move.

And after one, two, three,
four, five, six, seven weeks,
nobody could figure out why
without a second thought, it set sail again.

The white sails, the flags and the rigging
quickly got the sailors moving,
and the captain with his old mustache
went up on deck to take command of his ship.

When the bosun tells
this legend of the sea,
everyone listens in silence,
not even a whisper to be heard.

Trembling, shining bright,
the eye searches down there,
where in the void the blue sea fades away,
a dream that won’t return again.

Once upon a time, there was a little boat
that couldn’t sail at all,
it was a mile away from the shore,
it saw the harbor but couldn’t dock anymore.

Yet it had all the gear in place,
including the keel and the helm,
but try as they might, they couldn’t find a way
to get that damn hunk of junk to move.

And after one, two, three,
four, five, six, seven weeks,
nobody could figure out why
without a second thought, it set sail again.

The white sails, the flags and the rigging
quickly got the sailors moving,
and the captain with his old mustache
went up on deck to take command of his ship.