Lyrics I've Grown Accustomed To Her Face - Matt Monro
Damn!
Damn!
Damn!
Damn!
I've
grown
accustomed
to
her
face.
She
almost
makes
the
day
begin.
I've
grown
accustomed
to
the
tune
That
she
whistles
night
and
noon.
Her
smiles,
her
frowns,
Her
ups,
her
downs
Are
second
nature
to
me
now,
Like
breathing
out
and
breathing
in.
I
was
serenely
independent
And
content
before
we
met.
Surely
I
could
always
be
that
way
again
- and
yet,
I've
grown
accustomed
to
her
look,
Accustomed
to
her
voice,
Accustomed
to
her
face.
(Spoken)
Marry
Freddy.
What
an
infantile
idea.
What
a
heartless,
Wicked,
brainless
thing
to
do.
But
she'll
regret
it.
It's
Doomed
before
they
even
take
the
vow.
I
can
see
her
now,
Mrs.
Freddy
Eynsford-Hill,
In
a
wretched
little
flat
above
a
store.
I
can
see
her
now,
not
a
penny
in
the
till,
And
a
bill
collector
beating
at
the
door.
She'll
try
to
teach
the
things
I
taught
her,
And
end
up
selling
flowers
instead.
Begging
for
her
bread
and
water,
While
her
husband
has
his
breakfast
in
bed.
In
a
year
or
so,
when
she's
prematurely
grey,
And
the
blossom
in
her
cheek
has
turned
to
chalk,
She'll
come
home
and
lo,
He'll
have
upped
and
run
away,
With
a
social-climbing
heiress
from
New
York.
Poor
Eliza.
How
simply
frightful!
How
humiliating!
How
delightful!
How
poignant
it'll
be
on
that
inevitable
night
When
she
hammers
on
my
door
in
tears
and
rags.
Miserable
and
lonely,
repentant
and
contrite,
Will
I
take
her
in
or
hurl
her
to
the
walls?
Give
her
kindness
or
the
treatment
she
deserves?
Will
I
take
her
back
or
throw
the
baggage
out?
But,
I'm
a
most
forgiving
man,
The
sort
who
never
could,
never
would,
Take
a
position
and
staunchly
never
budge.
A
most
forgiving
man.
But
I
shall
never
take
take
her
back
If
she
were
even
crawling
on
her
knees.
Let
her
promise
to
atone,
Let
her
shiver,
let
her
moan,
I'll
slam
the
door
and
let
the
hell-cat
freeze!
Marry
Freddy,
HA!
But
I'm
so
used
to
hear
her
day,
"Good
morning"
every
day.
Her
joys,
her
woes,
Her
highs,
her
lows,
Are
second
nature
to
me
now,
Like
breathing
out
and
breathing
in.
I'm
very
grateful
she's
a
woman,
And
so
easy
to
forget,
rather
like
a
habit
One
can
always
break
- and
yet,
I've
grown
accustomed
to
the
trace,
Of
something
in
the
air,
Accustomed
to
her
face.
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