Um lugar chamado notting hill - she

She
Maybe the face I can't forget,
A trace of pleasure or regret,
Maybe my treasure or
The price I have to pay.

She
Maybe the song that summer sings,
Maybe the chill that autumn brings,
Maybe a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day.

She
Maybe the beauty or the beast,
Maybe the famine or the feast,
May turn each day into a
Heaven or a hell.

She
Maybe the mirror of my dream,
A smile reflected in a stream,
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell.

She
Who always seems so happy in a crowd,
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud,
No one's allowed to see them
When they cry.

She
Maybe the love that cannot hope to last,
May come to me from shadows of the past,
That I remember till the day I die.

She
Maybe the reason I survive,
The why and wherefore I'm alive,
The one I'll care for through the
Rough and ready years.

Me, I'll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be.
The meaning of my life is she, she

She