postcards from italy

• (ara: sozlerini de)
  
  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