So here we are in Italy

With a sun hat and a dictionary.

The air is warm, the sky is bright,

Your arms are brown you're sleeping well at night.

So why does England call?

The hedgerows and the townhalls.

After all, there'll soon be nothing left at all.



If we were born outside of place and time,

To make our choice, well this would be mine.

To live and die under a sun that shines.

But something pulls, something I can't define

Tells me England calls, whatever she's done wrong.

Always calls,