And I was always so impulsive,
I guess that I still am,
And all that really mattered then
Was that I wasn't a man.
I guess that our being together
Was never meant to be.
And Marta, Marta,
I love you can't you see?
And those were the days of roses, poetry and prose
And Marta, all I had was you and all you had was me.
There was no tomorrows, we'd packed away our sorrows
And we saved them for a rainy day.
And I remember quiet evenings trembling close to you...
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