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Postcards From Italy  Beirut



The t[F]imes we had
Oh, when the w[A]ind would blow with rain and snow
Were [F]not all bad
We put our f[A]eet just where they had
Had to [F]go
Never to [A]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 [Bb]I will[F] love to see that day [Dm]
That d[C]ay is mine
When [Bb]she will ma[F]rry me
Out[Dm]side with the w[C]illow trees

And playing songs in May
What made me so
And I would love to see that day
The day was mine


END

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| This file is the author's own work and represents their interpretation |
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