Postcards From Italy
The times we hadOh, when the wind would blow with rain and snowWere not all badWe put our feet just where they had, had to goNever to go
The shattered soulFollowing close but nearly twice as slowIn my good timesThere were always golden rocks to throwAt those who admit defeat too late.Those were our times, those were our times.
And I will love to see that dayThat day is mineWhen she will marry me outside with the willow treesAnd play the songs we madeThey made me soAnd I would love to see that dayThat day was mine.