Arbour -

Rusting in a restless heat

This heavy curtained room’s no place for me

The king’s feet and his broken speech

Those were dark days in this field

Coffee pressed bread basket dreams

Hungry then and still it seems

Oh our backs pressed up red-brick thin

Wine red, chequered skin

Italy you’re calling me

Italy you’re calling me

Oh Italy you’re calling

Batter born it’s blood in my grain

The sheets were warm where we’d lain

I clung to you in your bed

I was far-flung in my head

I was a free-wheeling racing child

Graffiti yard lock in

And the trees swallowed us where we sat

Left us stoned on the cobbled flat

Italy you’re calling me

Italy you’re calling me

Oh Italy you’re calling