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I've grown accustomed to her face |
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She almost makes the day begin |
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I've grown accustomed to the tune |
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She whistles night and noon |
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Her smiles, her frowns |
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Her ups, her downs |
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Are second nature to me now |
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Like breathing out and breathing in |
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I was serenely independent and content before we met |
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Surely I could always be that way again and yet |
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I've grown accustomed to her look |
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Accustomed to her voice, accustomed to her face |
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I'm very grateful she's a woman and so easy to forget |
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Rather like a habit one can always break and yet |
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I've grown accustomed to the trace of something in the air |
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Accustomed to her face |
