Wednesday morning at 5 o'clock as the day begins.
Quietly closing her hotel room door.
Leaving the key at the desk, bottom floor.

She goes out the door to the curbside clutching her worry beads.
She proceeds to hail down a taxi.
Nearly nails her to a tree.

She (We gave her pizza and Coke.)
Is leaving (Pasta stuffed with artichoke.)
Rome. (We gave her things that the lira can't buy.)

She's leaving Rome after calling it home for almost a year.

Papa snores as his wife flushes the stuffed toilet bowl.
Daughter walks in with her eyes filled with tears.
Toilet bowl water flows slowly downstairs.

Ma breaks down and cries to her husband "Dodo, our baby's home!"
"Why don't you call us from Rome, Italy?"
"Why in our pants must we pee?"

She (She had a house by the sea.)
Is leaving (She even saw Sicily-y-y.)
Rome (We gave her gondolas, blown glass, blue skies.)

She's leaving Rome after calling it home for almost a year.

Friday morning at 9 o'clock she is far away.
And from now on, for her life, she will pray.
She's made her home near downtown L.A.

She (She deserves to ride the bus.)
Is feeling (No place is better than us.)
Sad (Sad is the one thing she deserves to feel.)

You dare leave Rome after calling it home for almost a year!

You're leaving Rome. (Fancul'!)