Bill Staines The French Girl
Three silver rings on slim hands waving
Flashed bright in candlelight on Sunday's early morn
We found her room that rainy morning
She took my hand through winding roads and led me home
Some red French wine, when later waking
In her warm hideaway, she laughed and combed her hair
We talked of all, we talked of nothing
I left with promises to meet, she told me where
But she laughed each time I asked her name
Vague promises to meet again
But our friends down at the French café
Had no English words for me
So you may find, above the border
A girl with silver rings, I never knew her name
You're bound to lose, she's too much for you
She'll leave you lost some rainy morn
You won't be the same, you won't be the same
