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
Chorus
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
Chorus
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