Postcards From Italy - Beirut

F

The times we had, oh, when the wind would blow with rain and snow

Were not all bad, we put our feet just where they had

Had to go, never to go

The shattered soul following close, but nearly twice as slow

In my good times there were always golden rocks to throw

At those who, those who admit defeat too late

Those were our times, those were our times

F A (x5)

F

Bb (x2)

Bb (x9)