Postcards From Italy

The times we had, oh, when the wind would blow

With rain and snow were not all bad

We put our feet just where they had, had to go

Never to go

The shattered soul following close but nearly twice as slow

In my good times there were always golden rocks to throw

At those who admit defeat too late

Those were our times, those were our times

And I will love to see that day, that day is mine

When she will marry me outside with the willow trees

And play the songs we made, they made me so

And I would love to see that day, her day was mine