This morning I will not
Comb my hair.
It has lain
Pillowed on the hand of my lover.
I sit at home
In our room
By our bed
Gazing at your pillow.
Gossip grows like weeds
In a summer meadow.
My girl and I
Sleep arm in arm.
This morning I will not
Comb my hair.
It has lain
Pillowed on the hand of my lover.
I sit at home
In our room
By our bed
Gazing at your pillow.
Gossip grows like weeds
In a summer meadow.
My girl and I
Sleep arm in arm.