|
I've grown accustomed to her face |
|
She almost makes the day begin |
|
I've grown accustomed to the tune she whistles night and noon |
|
Her smiles, her frowns, her ups and 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 looks, accustomed to her voice |
|
Accustomed to her face |
|
She's 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 |
