| Anonymous mr. |
| Brown
|
| Wakes up at dawn, puts a brown suit on
|
| And a neat brown tie, matching his brown eyes
|
| He’d been tidy, anonymous mr. |
| Brown
|
| Anonymous mr. |
| Brown
|
| Sings a little song as he strolls along
|
| Through the flower beds, with his bag old bread
|
| For the birdies, anonymous mr. |
| Brown
|
| Mr. Brown doesn’t dare
|
| To smile at the lady, sitting there
|
| Feeding ducks, knitting away while she thinks: «Oh my
|
| It’s a pity that he’s so shy», such a pity to be so shy
|
| And the lady who feeds the ducks
|
| Looks at mr. |
| Brown with her eyes cast down
|
| Thinks: «Perhaps this week he might start to speak
|
| For I love him, anonymous mr. |
| Brown»
|
| Then one day, mr. |
| Brown
|
| Noticed the lady wasn’t around
|
| He enquired, found from the keeper, she tripped and fell
|
| Sent some flowers to wish her well, lovely flowers to wish her well
|
| And the keeper who keeps the park
|
| Keeps a secret too, with the lady who
|
| Never really fell, but he’ll never tell
|
| They’re so happy that mr. |
| and mrs. |
| Brown |