I turned about and there she was.
Perhaps it was a noise I heard?
Perhaps it was a dream?
The rustle of suspender belt,
Against a stocking seam?
I turned again, she wasn’t there,
Except the perfume of her hair.
I turned about and there she was.
Perhaps it was a noise I heard?
Perhaps it was a dream?
The rustle of suspender belt,
Against a stocking seam?
I turned again, she wasn’t there,
Except the perfume of her hair.