Wednesday, September 22, 2010


Clift Richard

Some..times when I look from, my window I see..
A beauti..ful stranger, who beckons to me..
I know where.. she come from.
But where does she go…
Oneday I’ll.. go with her, and then I shall know..

Each day whenshe passes, at ten twenty three.
Her eyes find.. my window, she’s smiling on me..
I ran to the stairs.., but too late she’s.. gone..
She’ll be back.. tomorrow, at a quarter past one.

One Sunday.., I miss her.. She.. don’t come by..
I don’t know.. the reason,
Yes I’ll never know why..
She may go.. away, for the weeker by then..
She come back.. on Monday, at the twenty past ten.

The passses quickly and often I see..
That beautiful stranger who beckons to me..
She stands on.. an island, surround by sea…
And the smile.. on her lips say : “ Fly B.O.A.C.

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