all the boys they drive ducatis
up and down the road in droves
they dismount peeling leather to their waists
grab their gals and they gather
'round the parkbench on the sidewalk
all smiles and sun burnished faces

at the cafe novacento 
he would take in the parade
she would try out what english she knew
he was just a rounder 
and she a refugee
a russian on the run in italy

and the river runs along
behind the back of the man 
who leans against the rail
that runs along the water
his lover leans into him
in a lingering embrace
face to face the day is 
drawing to a close
on the streets outside
the cafe novacento

he said everybody's running
she said no that isn't so
not everyone who wanders is lost
when there's nothing left to carry
and nobody left to leave
and you're the only one you'll ever need