There is a well in the middle of Tuscany
Where people travel to from all over the world
To throw in pennies for their wishes to come true.
Some folks throw in rocks and bullets and bodies
Because they are human and humans don’t play well with others.
The water’s about to overflow and all their desires
And horrors and fantasies will rise to the surface
And cover the ground with fallacious sadness.
Where will the fingers of blame be pointed?
Is there hope for a species that kills without prejudice?

There is a well in the middle of Tuscany
That knows all your wrongs but doesn’t judge.
It watches everything with its solitary watery eye
And as it begins to cry, so do the folks watching,
Seeing all that they have done come to surface.
There is no love here, not anymore.
There is a well in the middle of Tuscany.
It bleeds something awful.
It bleeds something wicked.