Red Roofs and Blue Mounatins

A town where the roofs are red
And mountains blue, such a place
Could be heaven with you.

In the mid December we would be walking
On broken decorations and pretend its snow,
Who would ever know?

You could hold my hand and I would say
That the wool doesn’t itch,
You always carry the bags after all.

I would kiss your lips,
Though damaged by the cold
And the baroque Graz would cry with love once more.