empty houses, counting time
paper flowers, learning lines
antique keys lock antique homes
I hear your voice in phone calls from Rome.
In back alleys we drown in sound
around square tables we talk them down
I dream of tan arms and olive trees
I sing like you could bring them all
to me
And besides, and the miles, your eyes
like tides
Louisville shines but there's no more wine
the light is bear
Its morning there
blow a kiss to the Mediterranean
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