At the dawn of an ordinary sunday
I remember the taste of you, sweet in my mouth
Late in the year
And in the stillness of the Oriente rainfall
I remember the warmth of you, still in my arms
Late, late in the year
I will bring to you flowers in the night
Soft as trembling fingers touch you, love
I can offer you wine and candlelight
If only my aching fingers clutch you, love
Late in the year
Late in the year
Late in the year
At the dawn of an ordinary sunday
I remember the taste of you, sweet in my mouth
Late in the year
