All Ombra Di Una Colt
Willy Brezza
In the Shadow of a Plow
I want to feel between my fingers
The warm wood of a plow
The prickly heads of wheat
The soft hair of my woman
But I can't, 'cause I gotta kill
I want to look into people's eyes
To see them smile
Shake hands with everyone
And feel them shake mine
But I can't, 'cause I gotta kill
The hills of the south are waiting for me
By the trees, they cry
Spring is coming back
I don't have time to die
In these things, the sense of truth
Is to be spoken, but my voice is fading away
