There's hardly a mouthful of air
In the room where breakfast is set
And I know could she speak
She would say, "What's wrong with light?"
Draw the blind up, look at the day
Listen to the birds sing
The hours
And then in joy you'll be
There's hardly a mouthful of air
In the room where breakfast is set
And I know could she speak
She would say, "What's wrong with light?"
Draw the blind up, look at the day
Listen to the birds sing
The hours
And then in joy you'll be
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