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I'LL NEVER BE LONELY AGAIN I went for a walk last evening Lonely as lonely could be And near an old familiar spot I stumbled on a memory At first I stood there in amazement Not knowing what the next move would be Wondering if the one I was remembering By chance would be remembering me For years have come and years have gone And ours was a sad affair But after all, who can tell Maybe my old love still cares So gently I picked up my memory And tucked it away in my heart Now I will never be lonely again When I go for my evening walk ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO One hundred years ago, along St. Louis Bay Our fore fathers, used to hunt and fish and play Times haven' changed, too much for in away We do the very, same thing to-day One thing that will never change, it's love and romance With life's expectancy, our youth has a chance One hundred years from now, well who can say They may celebrate along St. Louis Bay. This song was composed for the Centennial of Bay St. Louis 1958 TO ALL DADS ON FATHER'S DAY If all the men, in this creation The swellest guy, in my estimation I hope someday you'll meet him I'm sure you will be glad To become acquainted, with my dear Dad When things go wrong, and you are sort of blue He's the very guy that will always stand by you So through thick and thin admit you've never had A better pal, than your old dad. LAZY MISSISSIPPI MOON Lazy Mississippi Moon, harvest time the time to spoon While you're strolling with your love beneath An Indian Summer Moon Fireflies swing their lanterns bright, as they Hitter Through the night But there isn't any light, in lover's land and you're the blame. Lazy Mississippi Moon, there will be a wedding soon In the rustic little chapel down the lane Won't you show your silver light For my love and me that night We're depending on you lazy Mississippi Moon. RENDEZVOUS I had a rendezvous with a memory last eve at twilight The moon, and the stars were there. Romance filled the air, but where were you dear? The ghost of the use to be seem'd to speak to me, Of the love we knew dear But sweetheart it seems to me, there is nothing left but a memory
Backman, Marguerite Thru-the-Garden-Gate-page-3