"She
May be the face I can't forget.
A trace of pleasure or regret
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay.
She may be the song that summer sings.
May be the chill that autumn brings.
May be a hundred different things
within the measure of a day.
She
May be the beauty or the beast.
May be the famine or the feast.
May turn each day into a heaven or a hell.
She may be the mirror of my dreams.
A smile reflected in a stream.
She may not be what she may seem
inside her shell.
She who always seems so happy in a crowd.
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No one's allowed to see them when they cry.
She may be the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows of the past.
That I'll remember till the day I die
She
May be the reason I survive
The why and wherefore I'm alive
The one I'll care for through the rough and ready years
Me I'll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is
she."
She - Elvis Costello, com a Filarmónica de Liverpool
