Sem-o-lina
Loves the seashells.
At the shore she
Loves the seashells.
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.
Sem-o-lina
Loves the seashells.
At the shore she
Loves the seashells.
Loves the seashells.
At the shore she
Loves the seashells.
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.
Sem-o-lina
Loves the seashells.
At the shore she
Loves the seashells.