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(1959) george bassman, chayefsky |
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Only the lonely love, only the sad of soul, |
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Wake and begin their day in the middle of the night, |
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To breakfast on their pride, burnt joys and tears just dried |
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To breakfast with the moon in the middle of the night. |
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Then to count once more my miserly store of your kisses |
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In this darkness restored, |
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To grasp your absent grace in desperate embrace, |
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To make your false heart true, in the middle of the night oh oh oh |
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Then to count once more my miserly store of your kisses |
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In this darkness restored, |
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To grasp your absent grace in desperate embrace, |
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To make your false heart true, in the middle of the night . |
