Bocca Di Rosa

Bocca Di Rosa

They called her Bocca di Rosa
She put love, she put love
They called her Bocca di Rosa
She put love above all else

As soon as she got off at the station
Of the little town of Sant'Ilario
Everyone noticed with a glance
That she wasn't a missionary

Some make love out of boredom
Some choose it as a profession
Bocca di Rosa was neither, she did it out of passion

But passion often leads
To satisfying one's desires
Without investigating if the desired one
Has a free heart or a wife
And so it was that overnight
Bocca di Rosa drew upon herself
The deadly wrath of the bitches
From whom she had taken the bone

But the gossip of a small town
Certainly doesn't shine with initiative
The countermeasures up to that point
Were limited to invective

It's known that people give good advice
Feeling like Jesus in the Temple
It's known that people give good advice
If they can no longer set a bad example
So an old woman, never a wife, without children, without desires
Took it upon herself and certainly with pleasure
To give all the right advice
And addressing the cuckolded women
She rebuked them with clever words
'Theft of love will be punished,' she said
'By the Established Order'

But they went to the commissioner
And said without paraphrasing
'That disgusting woman already has too many clients
More than a food consortium'

And four gendarmes arrived
With plumes, with plumes
And four gendarmes arrived
With plumes and with weapons

Tender-heartedness is not a quality
That the carabinieri are full of
But that time, to catch the train
They accompanied her very unwillingly

At the station, everyone was there
From the commissioner to the sacristan
At the station, everyone was there
With red eyes and hats in hand
To bid farewell to the one who for a while
Without pretensions, without pretensions
To bid farewell to the one who for a while
Brought love to the town
There was a yellow sign with black writing
It said: 'Goodbye Bocca di Rosa
With you, spring leaves'

But a somewhat original piece of news
Doesn't need any newspaper
Like an arrow shot from a bow
It flies quickly from mouth to mouth

At the next station
Many more people than when she left
Some blow a kiss, some throw a flower
Some book her for two hours

Even the priest, who doesn't disdain
Between a Miserere and Extreme Unction
The ephemeral good of beauty
Wants her next to him in the procession
And with the Virgin in the front row
And Bocca di Rosa not far away
He parades through the town
Sacred love and profane love