|
Where the fountains freeze |
|
And teetering heels fall to their knees |
|
In disrepair |
|
A dozen limping midnights |
|
Leave me there |
|
Where the vandals loot |
|
And no magnum opus |
|
Dares to stoop |
|
The cupboards bare |
|
Drag your heels to Barberini Square |
|
I close my fist around |
|
The poles from north to south |
|
No blushes to burn |
|
Long, long gone |
|
Nothing to no-one |
|
Moving on, moving on |
|
I have watched the trains |
|
Pulling away time and again |
|
From platforms stained |
|
With lovers tears |
|
And grateful arms the same |
|
Just a name to sing |
|
Cross white hot coals |
|
A winter wind |
|
To climb the stairs |
|
And grace my lips on Barberini Square |
|
I close my fist around |
|
The poles from north to south |
|
No blushes to burn |
|
Long, long gone |
|
Nothing to no-one |
|
Moving on, moving on |
|
In a certain light |
|
Your face could launch |
|
A bare knuckle fight |
|
With scowls to spare |
|
Drag your heels to Barberini Square |
|
I close my fist around |
|
The poles from north to south |
|
No blushes to burn |
|
Long, long gone |
|
Nothing to no-one |
|
Moving on, moving on |
|
Long gone, long, long gone |
