| Schoolbag inhand,
|
| she leaves home in the early morning
|
| Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile
|
| I watch her go with a surge of that well-known sadness
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| And I have to sit down for a while
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| The feeling that I'm losing her forever
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| And without really entering her world
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| I'm glad whenever I can share her laughter
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| That funny little girl
|
| Slipping through my fingers all the time
|
| I try to capture every minute
|
| The feeling in it
|
| Slipping through my fingers all the time
|
| Do I really see what's in her mind
|
| Each time I think I'm close to knowing
|
| She keeps on growing
|
| Slipping through my fingers all the time
|
| Sleep in our eyes, her and me
|
| at the breakfast table
|
| Barely awake, I let precious time go by
|
| Then when she's gone there's that odd melancholy feeling
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| And a sense of guilt I can't deny
|
| What happened to the wonderful adventures
|
| The places I had planned for us to go
|
| (Slipping through my fingers all the time)
|
| Well, some of that we did but most we didn't
|
| And why I just don't know
|
| Slipping through my fingers all the time
|
| I try to capture every minute
|
| The feeling in it
|
| Slipping through my fingers all the time
|
| Do I really see what's in her mind
|
| Each time I think I'm close to knowing
|
| She keeps on growing
|
| Slipping through my fingers all the time
|
| Sometimes I wish that I could freeze the picture
|
| And save it from the funny tricks of time
|
| Slipping through my fingers...
|
| Schoolbag in hand she leaves home in the early morning
|
| Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile.. |