The bankrupter Benito,
Once again, he asks for credit
From war-weary Italy
And sings his song anew.
Cracked is his grandeur,
Gone is his splendor,
Hoarse sounds the Giovinezza
Over the radio through the night.
Workers and soldiers,
I am so sorry,
The power we once possessed,
We possess no more.
For over twenty-one years,
I was in control,
And many citizens were
Fascist-minded back then.
He boasts about the triumphs
That he has achieved,
Now they must pay the price,
Benito has failed.
Italy has been defeated
And already draws a balance,
Beyond Benito‘s days,
Beyond Benito‘s glory.
He had his chances
And wasted the game,
Nice remains with the French,
And he imagined himself:
With stealing and plundering,
I make Italy great,
That was fascist belief,
And this belief is dead now.
Once again, he tries to lure
Followers with his words,
Once again, he wishes to gamble
The game of blood and murder.
He has collected
The social phrases,
And starts to blow his little song,
Thinks that Italy is asleep.
He hopes the people are sleeping,
He recites his old rhyme,
And hoped that they would soon
Follow the old line.
The old Pied Piper,
He has indeed been mistaken,
Italy no longer believes
In the propaganda ruse.
It does not wish to hear him anymore,
It knows he is bankrupt,
He is broke, lost,
They refuse him credit.
Post-Editing: Sylvia Stawski, Ernst Sittig
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