Passchendaele,
a novembre non avevo piu' un amico
solo il fango come un gelido vestito
Bruciava il cielo nella notte
sulle croci disperate
e io sognavo di andare via

Ma la tua pioggia
cadeva lenta
sciogliendo il fango
sulle mie lacrime
- A diciott'anni la vita e' un filo di seta -
cantava all'alba il vento ancora

Passchendaele,
quel mattino mi mostrasti le tue lame
e io vidi che erano lame di fango
per tante croci come me, hai gia' capito,
qui nelle Fiandre il vero re

Passchendaele,
ti ricorderai di me sotto quel fango
e una madre che pregava il mio ritorno
Bruciava il cielo nella notte
sulle croci addormentate
e non potevo piu' andare via

Ma la tua pioggia
cadeva lenta
sciogliendo il sangue nelle mie lacrime
- A diciott'anni la vita e' un filo di seta -
cantava all'alba il vento ancora

Passchendaele,
please remember not to burn another sunrise
in that jolly lonely place,
and rest forever
Now sing, sing joyfully
cause the tears have gone
sing, sing loud if you can
and think
that you see the mud
and you see the rain
while you see the words carved in my grave.
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here is a translation (it's grammatically rough...pardon me)
of the song (it should be considered as a poem)

* Passchendaele (Ypres 1917) *

Passchendaele,
you will remember me into that mud
and a sea that barred my return
but many crosses like me, you should have known,
were’ nt wondering the reason why.

Passchendaele,
in november I had no more friends,
but only the mud as a icy coat.
The sky was burning in the night on the hopeless crosses
while I was dreaming to go away

But your rain was falling slowly
melting the mud on my tears
- At eighteen the life is a silk thread –
was still singing at daybreak the wind

Passchendaele,
at that daybreak you showed me your blades,
and I saw that they were mud blades :
for many crosses like me, you have already known,
here in the Flanders the absolute king

Passchendaele, you will remember me under that mud
and a mother who was praying my return
The sky was burning in the night on the sleeping crosses
and I could’nt go away any more

But your rain was falling slowly
melting the blood in my tears
- At eighteen the life is a silk thread -
was still singing at daybreak the wind

Passchendaele,
please remember not to burn another sunrise
in that jolly lonely place,
and rest forever
Now sing, sing joyfully
cause the tears have gone
sing, sing loud if you can
and think
that you see the mud
and you see the rain
while you see the words carved in my grave