The Hills of Tuscany - Eric Andersen

    The room is lying emply and your heart is filled wilh weeds
    The cily of your falher is cold, from your wasled deeds
    Charlotte rubs the flower, that she lost between her legs
    Her children all are grown now
    And she's too proud lo beg
    Your lovèr's seeking power
    And your brolher's seeking gold
    Your son seeks his uniqueness
    To prove he can break the mold
    You have worked the factories
    And you have tilled the fields
    You have lived your fantasies lo find out which are real

    He's dreaming of the Spanish plains, the hills of Tuscany
    Sleeping in the olive groves, sunny italy

    The windmills now are frozen only wounded by the wind
    The wise men write about the piace where only fools rush in
    There are mountains made of marble
    Across the dark red sea
    Where masters carved a perfect god
    That couldn't set them free
    And yonder in the distance
    Exist the lives that can't be proved
    Oh, with eyes made for seeing everything
    But with mouths that cannot move
    Close by the smiles of treachery
    The Lovers and their se ed
    They look so sick and beautilul
    But they say what they need


    See the mother and the child
    They are wading in a stream
    He's pointing to the flowers
    And she's pointing to her wings
    When she was a virgin
    Once she even tried
    To jump off of a mountain
    When she knew she could not fly
    The troops are on vacation
    Now they've headed for the sea
    With their passports and their credit cards
    Their orders and their guns
    In the Colliseum the bull is breathing fire
    The matador keeps watching
    And the stakes keep getting higher

    Chorus (twice)

    © 1986 By Eric Andersen

    Marco Giunco
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