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Under the Bamboo Tree

de Arthur Freed

Certain kinds of nights,
find me swimming alone,
inside my bed.

Certain kinds of songs
leave me without a sound
without a trace.

Now I know,
something aint right
inside of her

Certain kinds of sounds
find me slippin' away.
Driftin away.

Certain kinds of light,
find me sfalling into
her summer dress

Now I know,
something aint right
inside of her.

It's not out of respect,
the door is closed but the walls still haunt me.
Still haunt me.

Now I know,
somethin aint right
inside of her.

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