How delicate the tracery of her fine lines
Like the moonlight lace-tops of the evening pines
Like a song half heard through a closed door
Like a notebook when you cannot read the writing anymore
How inocent her visage as my child lover lies
Pressed against the wind swept windy windows of my eyes
Like an empty kitchen glass design that somehow turned out wrong
I keep kooking through old varnish at my late lover's body
Caught on ancient canvas and decaying, disappearing.
Even as I sing a song
Now secretly and silently my sorrow disappears
You can't see it with your eyes or hear it with your ears
It's like a watermark that's mirrored there and never really gone
I keep looking through old varnish at my late lover's body
Caught on acient canvans and decaying, disappearing
Even as I sing a song
Even as I sing a song
Even as I sing a song
Writer(s): Jimmy Webb
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