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The narrow and the winding ways |
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The streets of old New York |
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The families, the street life, the spark |
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The rooftop where we watched |
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San Gennaro's festival |
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Masquerades in the dark... |
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On the streets down in little Italy |
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Where the past goes on and on forever |
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And I feel it ever present |
|
In every step I take alone |
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On the streets down in little Italy |
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The oceans and the years |
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That separate our lives |
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From these streets we once called our home |
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Those distances of space and time |
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How strong they are |
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And how weak they are... |
|
On the streets down in little Italy |
|
Where the past goes on and on forever |
|
And I feel it ever present |
|
In every step I take alone |
|
On the streets down in little Italy |
|
Does the morning sunlight |
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Still hit the bed where we used to lie |
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Do the sidewalk stands and markets still overflow |
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Where I lingered till I was empty |
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Where I stayed till I had to go |
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Though in the night |
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Sometimes I see you disappear |
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Down cobblestones... |
|
On the streets down in little Italy |
|
Where the past goes on and on forever |
|
And I feel it ever present |
|
In every step I take alone |
|
Like your presence in my bones |
|
On the streets down in little Italy |
