Standard (EADGBE)

At the dawn of an ordinary Sunday

I remember the taste of you, sweet in my mouth,

Laaaaate in the year.

And in the stillness of the Oriente rainfall

I remember the warmth of you, still in my arms,

Late, late in the year.

I can bring to you flowers in the night

Soft as my trembling fingers touch you--love,

I can offer you wine and candlelight

If only my aching fingers scratch you, love

Late in the year.

Late in the year.

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