Sometimes when I hear
The sad single strings of a Spanish guitar
Played by a man alone
In an old rhythm that wandered from Madrid
My heart fills to bursting
With a sweet pain
A glorious sadness
A grief so immense
I could not eat it all
If I had a thousand
lonely Sunday mornings.
The sad single strings of a Spanish guitar
Played by a man alone
In an old rhythm that wandered from Madrid
My heart fills to bursting
With a sweet pain
A glorious sadness
A grief so immense
I could not eat it all
If I had a thousand
lonely Sunday mornings.
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