I drove there in the evening, alone
Feeling queasy about the road ahead
Needing the solution to my imagination

Thinking back to the dreams at dusk
Hearing the pained voices
"I wish I knew what they were telling me."

Fast forwarding, here I was with a man I met
Stopped the car and opened the door and entered the home
I met the brother, a peculiar folk, it looked as if he were alone

He gave off a sense that made him worthy of my trust
And told me with his rich accent of the history and dust

Of Tuscany.

"Sir did you know of the 'visitor' who died within these walls?
This event was recorded and passed down through folklore

His soul is gone for eternity
But his 'spirits' stay here
He died at a very ripe age"

I thought to myself I was scared
But must stay to learn more
For lacking hope and love and faith
I would fail to find the answers

As the evening progressed he showed me a room
With something that had no business there, a casket made of glass
The man looked at me and didn't speak, but he didn't have to
I had to decide now to stay or leave Tuscany fast

It was the one who died; the one who suffered
Convincing myself that I was uncovering this nightmare
But still not convinced the man's story added up

I tried to get more answers but he said,
"oh, you misunderstood everything
this is just how we do things here

but hey, remember me
and mention me to people you meet
cause i'm the count of tuscany"

whoa
whoa
whoa