Oh sweet thing, sweet thing
My, my, my, my, my sweet thing
And I shall drive my cherriot
Down your streets and cry
Hey, it's me, I'm dynamite
And I don't know why'
And you shall take me strongly
In your arms again
And I will not remember
That I even felt the pain.
We shall walk and talk
In gardens all misty and wet with rain
And I will never, never, never
Grow so old again.

 

 

van morrison

sweet thing