An old chanson triste, written in remembrance because of another sad day, a mining pit disaster, long time ago.
A hymn tune – for a hymn without words - of Robert Saint.
A sad song for a sad day. My rendition.
That’s one way to see it.
I prefer a more merciful approach.
When a weekly newspaper asked my friend the baker - a very religious man, a man whom I still consider an important pillar of my young life - how it was possible that our village had been saved from the all-consuming storm surge in 1953 - a disaster in which more than 2,000 people lost their life in our surroundings - he said: that was a miracle from God's hand.
I still consider that to be a truth, at that time - at a time when scientists were more modest and did not think they could explain everything, and therefore thought that God existed: the fine tuning, the idea that the universe was tailored to earthly needs and dimensions.
Of course, some caprice of fate came around the corner.
Trump has now won the presidential election. That is also incomprehensible: Trump, a Vulgar Talking Yam, according to the words of a columnist in America I highly regard. Completely inexplicable. Of course, some unfortunate twists of fate may have played a role here too.
To prove myself a good disciple of my baker, I will "repeat" him: this is the scourge of the Devil.
So, I’m crying for the United States of America.
I cry for you, people of the United States.
Because of that, here is my rendition of the Star Spangled Banner: LUTTUOSO per i giorni tenebrosi e i tempi del male.
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