| I've Grown Accustomed To His Face |
|---|
| I’ve grown accustomed to her face |
| She almost makes the day begin |
| I’ve grown accustomed to the tune |
| She whistles night an' noon |
| Her smiles, her frowns, her ups, her downs |
| Are second nature to me now |
| Like breathing out and breathing in |
| I was serenely independent and content, before we met |
| Surely I could always be that way again |
| And yet, I’ve grown accustomed to her looks |
| Accustomed to her voice, accustomed to her face |
