Saint Etienne - Like The Swallow
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.