Ecco Il Mio Amore (for Fabrizio de Andre)

I met you in January, four years after you died -it was cancer of the liver- the two of us in my father’s country; you would have been 63. I heard you soft, lilting singing in my father’s tongue, before I finally learned to speak it; my timing wasn’t right but yours was always perfect. [chorus] I was only three when you asked me “where,” “where is your love?” and “when did your heart die?” but I never answered -I was just a child. I was only three when you asked me “where,” “where is your love?” and “when did your heart die?” but I never answered -I was just a child. 21 years flew, and “they’re coming to ask about our love” for once I did not hesitate; we sang of Marinella and the king who kissed a prostitute. And they kidnapped you; locked you in a cave that’s where love, red love, got you -to the Mountaintop Hotel- how you forgave those bastards I’ll never understand. Then, you fell; to me, it mattered you’re far away, that matters too so I play a record for you a candle song to you wishing I had met you. [chorus] I was only three when you asked me “where,” “where is your love?” and “when did your heart die?” but I never answered -I was just a child. I was only three when you asked me “where,” “where is your love?” and “when did your heart die?” but I never answered -I was just a child. But I swear, that afternoon on the church steps, in the porticoed city a guitar and young man made music -such human, wistful sound- he was you, Fabrizio; he was you, and I was found.