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I've grown accustomed to his face |
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He almost makes the day begin |
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I've grown accustomed to the tune |
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He whistles night and noon |
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His smiles, his frowns, his ups, his 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 his looks, accustomed to his voice |
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Accustomed to his face |
|
I've grown accustomed to his face |
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He almost makes the day begin |
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I've gotten used to hear him say |
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Good morning everyday |
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His joys, his woes, his highs, his lows |
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Are second nature to me now |
|
Like breathing out, breathing in |
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I'm very glad he's a man 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 his face |
