| Georgia dawns and weeping willows
|
| Days of summer, long ago
|
| Angel wings in fallen snow
|
| You remind me of piano keys
|
| A little sharp on middle C
|
| Dust on soundboard, vase of roses
|
| Roaring fire where hound dog dozes
|
| You remind me
|
| How sweet it all can be
|
| How to whisper, how to sing
|
| Of the passion that we brought to everything
|
| Of the promise that was Spring
|
| You remind me love is nothing
|
| But the best that life can bring
|
| You remind me of radio plays
|
| In the «Golden Age of Radio» days
|
| When imagination still was king
|
| Didn’t need to see everything
|
| You remind me of shooting stars
|
| Life was a joy, if the living was hard
|
| Rewards were few, and patience thin
|
| It was easy to begin again
|
| You remind me
|
| How sweet it all can be
|
| You remind me of feather pillows
|
| Georgia dawns, and weeping willows
|
| Days of summer, long ago
|
| Angel wings in fallen snow
|
| You remind me of piano keys
|
| A little sharp in middle C
|
| Dust on soundboard, vase of roses
|
| A roaring fire where a hound dog dozes
|
| You remind me
|
| How sweet it all can be
|
| How to whisper, how to sing
|
| Of the passion we brought to everything
|
| Of the promise that was Spring
|
| You remind me love is nothing
|
| But the best that life can bring |