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