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Текст
If I held in my hand,
every grain of sand,
Since time first began to be,
Still, I could never count,
measure the amount,
Of all the things you are to me.
If I could paint the sky,
hang it out to dry,
I would want the sky to be...
Oh, such a grand design,
an everlasting sign,
Of all the things you are to me.
You are the song that comes on summer winds,
You are the falling year that autumn brings
You are the wonder and the mystery
In everything I see the things you are to me.
Sometimes I wake at night,
suddenly take fright,
You might be just fantasy,
But then you reach for me
and once again I see,
All the things you are to me.
You are the song that comes on summer winds,
You are the falling year that autumn brings
You are the wonder and the mystery
In everything I see the things you are to me.
You are the song that comes on summer winds,
You are the falling year that autumn brings
You are the wonder and the mystery
In everything I see the things you are to me.
All the things you are... to me.
