Postcards from Italy

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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
Were my good times
There were always golden rocks to throw
At those who
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 playing songs in May
What made me so
And I would love to see that day
The day was mine