---

Clatter - the milkman at my doorstep,
Bustle - my neighbour at her tea;
In all the world no one's so glad
To see the sun as me.

Angeline is always Friday,
Angeline is spring forever;
Winter Angeline could never be.
Mister Wilson, old and smiling,
Lifts his cap as she is passing,
Bowing her politely on to me.

The week has gone its lonely way;
I've waited for my only day
Away from shadows,
In her sunlight I can tell her:
"I love you, Angeline."

Angeline is always Friday,
Suitcase on the rack above;
She hasn't even read her magazine.
Angeline is counting stations,
'Til the one where I am standing,
Waiting for my only Angeline.

The week has gone its lonely way;
I've waited for my only day
Away from shadows,
In her sunlight I can tell her:
"I love you, Angeline."

Clatter - the milkman at my doorstep,
Bustle - my neighbour at her tea;
In all the world no one's so glad
To see the sun as me.

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