Semolina (loves the seashell)
At the shore she (loves the seashell)
Semolina (loves the seashell)
At the shore she (loves the seashell)
Semolina (loves the seashell)
At the shore she (loves the seashell)
Semolina (loves the seashell)
At the shore she (loves the seashell)
She can see the silver sometimes shining on the sea
Reflecting from the flying fishes, wishing she could be
A little piece of sand that's blown above the ocean's breeze
But all she has is thoughts of all those fingers peeling seeds
And leaving them to mold among the women watching weeds
Semolina (loves the seashell)
At the shore she (loves the seashell)
Semolina (loves the seashell)
At the shore she (loves the seashell)
Semolina (loves the seashell)
At the shore she (loves the seashell)
Semolina (loves the seashell)
At the shore she (loves the seashell)
Semolina
Semolina
Semolina
Semolina
Semolina
Semolina
Semolina
