I know some day you’ll have a beautiful life,
I know you’ll be the sun in somebody else’s sky,
but why, why can’t it be, can’t it be mine?
My thoughts tend to sound better in books I didn't write, and in songs I didn't sing.
I know some day you’ll have a beautiful life,
I know you’ll be the sun in somebody else’s sky,
but why, why can’t it be, can’t it be mine?
