| Whenever skies look gray to me
|
| And troubles begin to brew
|
| Whenever the wintery winds become too strong
|
| I concentrate on you
|
| When fortune cries «Nay, nay» to me
|
| And people declare «You're through»
|
| Whenever the blues becomes my only song
|
| I concentrate on you
|
| On your smile, so sweet and tender
|
| On the night when you first said you were mine
|
| On the kiss in your eyes that spelled surrender
|
| And all at once our arms intertwine
|
| And so when wise men say to me
|
| That love’s young dream never comes true
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| To prove that even wise men can be wrong
|
| I concentrate on you
|
| Ross Konikoff, he is fanned about
|
| On your smile, sweet and tender
|
| On that night when you first said you were mine
|
| On the kiss in your eyes that spelled surrender
|
| And all at once our arms intertwine
|
| And so when wise men say to me
|
| Love’s young dream never comes true
|
| To prove that even wise men can be wrong
|
| I concentrate on you
|
| Whenever skies look gray to me
|
| And troubles begin to brew
|
| Whenever the wintery wind become too strong
|
| I concentrate
|
| I concentrate
|
| I concentrate on you
|
| Ross Konikoff |