Clatter - the milkman at my doorstep, bustle - my neighbour at her tea;

In all the world no one's so glad to see the sun as me.

Angeline is always Friday, Angeline is spring forever;

Winter Angeline could never be.

Mister Wilson, old and smiling, lifts his cap as she is passing,

Bowing her politely on to me.

The week has gone its lonely way;

I've waited for my only day

Away from shadows,

In her sunlight I can tell her, "I love you, Angeline."

Angeline is always Friday, suitcase on the rack above;

She hasn't even read her magazine.

Angeline is counting stations, 'til the one where I am standing,

Waiting for my only Angeline.

The week has gone its lonely way;

I've waited for my only day

Away from shadows,

In her sunlight I can tell her, "I love you, Angeline."

Clatter - the milkman at my doorstep, bustle - my neighbour at her tea;

In all the world no one's so glad to see the sun as me.