Semolina

Semolina

SemolinaSemolina

Loves the seashells

At the shore she

Loves the seashellsShe can see the silver

Sometimes shining on the sea

Reflecting from the flying fishes

Wishing she could beA little piece of sand that's blown

Above the ocean's breeze

But all she has is thoughts of all

Those fingers peeling seeds

And leaving them to mold among

The women watching weedsSemolina

SemolinaSemolina

Loves the seashells

At the shore she

Loves the seashellsSemolina

Semolina

Semolina

SemolinaSemolina

[Incomprehensible]

[Incomprehensible]