Daniel Boaventura

Maybe the face I can't forget.
A trace of pleasure or regret
Maybe my treasure or the price I have to pay.
She maybe the song that summer sings.
Maybe the chill that autumn brings.
Maybe a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day.

Maybe the beauty or the beast.
Maybe the famine or the feast.
May turn each day into a heaven or a hell.
She may be the mirror of my dreams.
A smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell

She who always seems so happy in a crowd.
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No one's allowed to see them when they cry.
She maybe the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows of the past.
That I'll remember till the day I die

Maybe the reason I survive
The why and wherefore I'm alive
The one I'll care for through the rough and ready years
Me I'll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is

She, she, she

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