[FRANCESCA]
When a girl grows up in Napoli,
There are roads laid out before her.
And you understand, I'm speaking of
The times before the war.
When a girl grows up in Napoli,
She is more or less a target
For her mamma's expectations,
For the boys' infatuations;
All you get is one decision:
Will she give them what they want?
My sister Chiara wore tight-fitting sweaters,
Unbu*toned just so.
Chiara would squeeze ev'ry drop of attention
Wherever she'd go.
Chiara said, "'Cesca, you must be prepared."
Chiara would act as though nobody cared.
Chiara would laugh at me, quiet and scared…
And I dreamed of a flat in Siena
On the market square,
With a book and a pot and a window
And a single chair—
Far from lonesome,
Far from Chiara,
Almost real.
Paolo was a boy from down the hill
With silver eyes and hair like coal
And ma**ive hands that trembled
When he looked my way.
Paolo was a boy who loved to swim,
And who knows why I fell for him,
But soon enough I kissed him on a winter's day.
Chiara said, "'Cesca, he's dull and he's dumb.
You'll end up a farm wife, exhausted and numb.
I'm off to the serviceman's club; you should come!"
But I dreamed of the beach at Ancona,
Where our kids would play,
Paolo right by my side, and the ocean
Only steps away…
Close to heaven.
Far from Chiara.
Almost real.
Chiara went dancing while air raid sirens were shrieking.
Chiara would open her legs just as easy as speaking.
Paolo went off with the Army and never returned.
And all that Chiara could say was,
"I hope now you've learned."
And the streets were rubble
And the water was filthy
And there were no cigarettes
And no haircuts
And no thinking about the future.
And I sat at the harbor,
Watching the American ships
And then…
I looked up and I saw an American smile down at me.
And I knew if I just took his hand, I would at least be free.
I could love him, I could want him
Only take me from Italia,
Far from Chiara!
Far enough that I could feel
Almost real.