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I Could Write A Book

de Aretha Franklin

My little brown book
With the silver binding
How it keeps reminding me
Of a memory that's haunting me

In some quiet nook
I go through its pages
And peruse this ageless tale
Of the love that failed
To ever become true

On this page is the date
Of that fateful night at eight

When we found we were no longer in love
After that there's nothing more
Just a dark and futile door
That shuts out the stars above

My little brown book
I inscribed your heart vows
But since we're apart
Now this and that last sweet kiss
Is all that's left of you

Is all that's left of you

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