Love is a woman, spun from young men's dreams
Her hair on every pillow gleams
Love's soft touch of one such tames a man most tenderly
And love is you, love's come to me.
Love is a woman all men seek somewhere
Her lips are something one does dare
(...?) of rose paint some blood from her cheeky turn on me
And love is you, love's come to me.
Take my hand, make me your man!
Never let go, I love you so!
Love is a woman, spun from young men's dreams
But dreams are seldom what they seem
For our dreams disappear in the waking sun of love
Still you are here, and you are love
So woman be sweet history, love come to me.
|: |: Love is a woman, spun from young men's dreams :| :|