Summer, you old Indian Summer. You're the tear that comes after June-time's laughter. You see so many dreams that don't come true. Dreams we fashioned when Summertime was new.
I want to take you to a little room. A little room where all the roses bloom. I want to lead you into Nature's hall. Where ev'ry year the roses give a ball.
Summer, you old Indian Summer. You're the tear that comes after June time's laughter. You see so many dreams that don't come true. Dreams we fashioned when Summertime was new.
I want to take you to a little room. A little room where all the roses bloom. I want to lead you into Nature's hall. Where ev'ry year the roses give a ball.