Maria Has A Music Box She Winds Up Most Every Day

Once A Week Is All It Takes To Make The Music Play

Melody Is Just Some Childhood Lullabye Her Mother Used To Sing To Her

And The Road Down To The City Goes Right By Maria's Door

I Ofted Walk Right By Her House On My Way To The Store

Up There Where Those Italian Mothers Dress Their Shivering Bambinos For The Rain

She Tells Me About Jesus And All His Gallant Men I Tell Her About Fantasy

Maria She's This Lady On My Way Down To The River Maria She's A Mystery

Maria She's A Mystery



Yeah Passing By This Morning I Drew A Picture In My Hand

Our Bodies In Some Candlelight That Glowed Upon Our Skin

Maybe If I Touched Her She Would Disappear Like Angels In A Dream

She Tells Me About Jesus...

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