The Things You Are To Me
If I held in my hand,
every grain of sand,
Since time first began to be,
Still, I could never count,
measure the amount,
Of all the things you are to me,
If I could paint the sky,
hang it out to dry,
I would want the sky to be
Oh,such a grand design,
an everlasting sign,
Of all the things you are to me.
You are the song
that comes on summer winds,
You are the falling year
that autumn brings;
You are the wonder
and the mystery
In everything I see
the things you are to me.
Sometimes,I wake at night,
suddenly take fright,
You might be just fantasy,
But then you reach for me
and once again I see,
All the things you are to me.
You are the song
that comes on summer winds,
You are the falling year
that autumn brings;
You are the wonder
and the mystery
In everything I see
the things you are to me.
You are the song
that comes on summer winds,
You are the falling year
that autumn brings;
You are the wonder
and the mystery
In everything I see
the things you are to me.
All the things you are to me.