She may be the face I can’t
forget,
A trace of pleasure or regret,
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay.
She may be the song that Summer sings,
May be the chill that Autumn brings,
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day.
A trace of pleasure or regret,
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay.
She may be the song that Summer sings,
May be the chill that Autumn brings,
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day.
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