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Sergio came to California |
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In the days after the war |
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So long ago |
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Bought some land |
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Thought to plant a vineyard |
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Like the one he used to know |
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So long ago |
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The sleepy valley was a land of farms and horses |
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He brought his family to the house that he built all alone |
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He drove the tractor, fixed the sprinklers, loaded boxes |
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Sold his wine from a van |
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His reputation soon began to grow |
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Sergio, with grapemust on his overalls |
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Acaccia in his hair |
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Memories flow |
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In his mind, another country far away |
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With music in the air |
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So long ago |
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His wooden vats have turned to towers of gleaming metal |
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For Pinot Noir and Syrah, Cabernet, Chardonnay |
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They're entered into competitions, winning medals, |
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Advertised on TV |
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They're calling him the patriarch today |
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Sergio, puts a weathered hand on the labeling machine |
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The day's almost done |
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Looks outside, beyond the barrels |
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To the rows of vines in brown and green |
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The last of the sun |
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Sergio, came to California |
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In the years after the war |
|
So long ago |
|
Brought some land |
|
Thought to plant a vineyard |
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Like the ones he used to know |
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So long ago. |
