Postcards from Italy - Beirut

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, those who admit defeat too late

Those were our times, those were our times

And I will love to see that day

Her 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