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