lonesome for AP流ACEI know

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 youre sleeping well at night.
So why does
England call?
The hedgerows and the townhalls.
After all, therell 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 cant define
Tells me England calls, whatever shes done wrong.
Always calls , 'This is where you belong.'
And Im lonesome for a place
I know. Oh but
Florence you tempt me (here) to stay,
Amidst your hills to while my years away .
But your roots in soil lie, mine in paving stone.
And I hate what its become, but in my bones
Im lonesome for a place
I know. Why does
England call?