Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song I've Grown Accustomed To Your Face, artist - Sonny Rollins. Album song Rollins Plays For Bird, in the genre Date of issue: 31.12.1985
Record label: Fantasy
Song language: English
I've Grown Accustomed To Your Face |
| Damn! |
| Damn! |
| Damn! |
| Damn! |
| I’ve grown accustomed to her face |
| She almost makes the day begin |
| I’ve grown accustomed to the tune that |
| 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 independent and content before we met |
| Surely I could always be that way again |
| And yet |
| I’ve grown accustomed to her look |
| Accustomed to her voice |
| Accustomed to her face |
| I can see her now, Mrs. Freddy Eynsford-Hill |
| In a wretched little flat above a store |
| I can see her now, not a penny in the till |
| And a bill collector beating at the door |
| She’ll try to teach the things I taught her |
| And end up selling flowers instead |
| Begging for her bread and water |
| While her husband has his breakfast in bed |
| In a year, or so, when she’s prematurely grey |
| And the blossom in her cheek has turned to chalk |
| She’ll come home, and lo, he’ll have upped and run away |
| With a social-climbing heiress from New York |
| Poor Eliza. |
| How simply frightful |
| How humiliating! |
| How delightful |
| How poignant it’ll be on that inevitable night |
| When she hammers on my door in tears and rags |
| Miserable and lonely, repentant and contrite |
| Will I take her in or hurl her to the walls |
| Give her kindness or the treatment she deserves |
| Will I take her back or throw the baggage out |
| But I’m a most forgiving man |
| The sort who never could, ever would |
| Take a position and staunchly never budge |
| A most forgiving man |
| But, I shall never take her back |
| If she were even crawling on her knees |
| Let her promise to atone |
| Let her shiver, let her moan |
| I’ll slam the door and let the hell-cat freeze |
| But I’m so used to hear her say |
| Good morning everyday |
| Her joys, her woes |
| Her highs, her lows |
| Are second nature to me now |
| Like breathing out and breathing in |
| I’m very grateful she’s a woman |
| And so easy to forget |
| Rather like a habit |
| One can always break |
| And yet |
| I’ve grown accustomed to the trace |
| Of something in the air |
| Accustomed to her face |