My little sister sings herself to sleep
|
she doesn't know we're listening
|
to her lullaby, so innocent and sweet
|
I've rocked her cradle 'til her tears were dry
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and chased away a sleepless night
|
with a fairy-tale
|
reliving the best years of my life
|
when I look into her eyes
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and then I realize
|
|
Everything she's going through will be her memories
|
when she's older, and wiser
|
she's making her history
|
and everything we're going through will be our memories
|
I'm going make them worth remembering
|
for years . . .
|
|
I'm gonna tell her when she wants to know
|
but in the end she's on her own
|
no more fairy-tales
|
just giving the best years of her life
|
as a mother or a wife
|
a woman with a child
|
|
Everything she's going through will be her memories
|
when she's older, and wiser
|
she's making her history
|
and everything we're going through will be our memories
|
I'm going make them worth remembering
|
for years . . .
|
|
Everything she's going through will be her memories
|
when she's older, and wiser
|
she's making her history
|
and everything we're going through will be our memories
|
I'm going make them worth remembering
|
for years . . .
|
|
-----------------
|
Memories
|
| Beverly Craven |
