On That Eternal Cold Saturday

Written by: S. A. David

Why do we find love in distant places?
Why did nature choose that day, Saturday?
And we weak to hide it from our faces?
Oh, on that eternal cold Saturday?

If painter, I'd paint you on the pulpit,
If sculptor, I'd sculpt you on all, all stones,
If King George, I'd bequeathe you all the cit',
If William singer, I'd compose God's tones.

The passion is magical, magical.
Could I have all, all o' that forever?
Where have you been physical, physical?
I pray never to leave you, yes, never!

Yes I have engraved you on my, my heart.
Yes G' more than the way I stole your heart.