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