So here we are in Italy   With a sun hat and a dictionary   The air is warm, the sky is bright   Your arms are brown, you're sleeping well at night   So why does England call?   The hedgerows and the townhalls   After all, there'll soon be nothing left at all      If we were born outside of place and time   To make our choice, well this would be mine   To live and die under a sun that shines   But something pulls, something I can't define   Tells me England calls, whatever she's done wrong   Always calls, This is where you belong   And I'm lonesome for a place I know      Oh but Florence you tempt me to stay   Amidst your hills to while my years away   But your roots in soil lie, mine in paving stone   And I hate what it's become, but in my bones   I'm lonesome for a place I know   Why does England call?