Firenze (Canzone Triste)

Florence, you know, it didn’t help to change it, the thing she loved most was the air. She sketched, filled folders with dreams, but the marble eyes of the Tuscan Colossus look too far away. My dear Barbarossa, philosophy student, with your shaky Italian, you could say certain things. Oh, I know, I know, I know, I know well, I know a woman to love, shared between you and me. But there’s plenty of time in this city, fucked up with melancholy and her.
That’s why I sing a sad song, sad, sad...
Sad like me. And there’s no one left to talk to me about her, just a bit more about her. And there’s no one left to talk to me about her, just a bit more about her. I remember her eyes, such a strange kind of woman she was when she threw her sketches angrily off the Ponte Vecchio. "I was born from a shell," she said, "My home is the sea, and with a river, no, I can’t change it." My dear Barbarossa, partner in an adventure, I’m sure if she’s gone, no, it’s not my fault. Oh, I know, I know, I know, your life won’t change, you’ll return to Ireland with your philosophy degree, but what will I do in this city? Fucked up with melancholy and her.
That’s why I sing a sad song, sad, sad...
Sad like me. And there’s no one left to talk to me about her, just a bit more about her. And there’s no one left to talk to me about her, just a bit more about her.