And her eyes hurt the way they do Almost like they'd seen, Almost like they knew And her words, soft as they could be Tied me to her soul and wouldn
Songs to make you free And songs to take you to another time Forgotten reasons that are made of rhyme For you and me The songs of life That somehow make
Ah, The last Picasso The last Picasso Was just acquired by some old museum And Don Quixote Well, Don Quixote The old man's rhyme has lost its reason
Yes I will Indeed I will If I may, if I might If I can Once upon a passing night dream He beheld a mystic image Bathed in blue reflection Then he stood
summer night We'll leave this worldly time On his winged flight Then come, and as we lay Beside this sleepy glade There I will sing to you My Longfellow serenade Longfellow serenade