B O S S Y V A L L

So you were never a saint and I've loved in shapes of wrong

Ella

She
May be the face I can't forget
A trace of pleasure I regret
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay
She may be the song that Solomon sings
May be the chill that Autumn brings
May be a hundred tearful things
Within the measure of a day

She
May be t…