Sweet Sir Galahad 
came in through the window 
in the night when 
the moon was in the yard. 
He took her hand in his 
and shook the long hair 
from his neck and he told her 
she'd been working much too hard. 
It was [bad word] that ever since the day 
her crazy man had passed away 
to the land of poet's pride, 
she laughed and talked alot 
with new people on the block 
but always at evening time she cried. 

And here's to the dawn of their days. 

She moved her head 
a little down on the bed 
until it rested softly on his knee. 
And there she dropped her smile 
and there she sighed awhile, 
and told him all the sadness 
of those years that numbered three. 
Well you know I think my fate's belated 
because of all the hours I waited 
for the day when I'd no longer cry. 
I get myself to work by eight 
but oh, was I born too late, 
and do you think I'll fail 
at every single thing I try? 

And here's to the dawn of their days. 

He just put his arm around her 
and that's the way I found her 
eight months later to the day. 
The lines of a smile erased 
the tear tracks upon her face, 
a smile could linger, even stay. 
Sweet Sir Galahad went down 
with his [bad word] bride of flowers, 
the prince of the hours 
of her lifetime. 

And here's to the dawn 
of their days, 
of their days.