Like The Swallow

Like The Swallow

Saint Etienne

She’s like the swallow
that flies so high.
She’s like the river
that never runs dry.
She’s like the sunshine on the lea-shore,
I love my love, and love is no more.

It’s out of roses
she made her bed.
A stolen pillow
for her head.
She’s like the sunshine on the lea-shore,
I love my love, and love is no more.

Etienne Gonna Die

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