Semolina

Semolina (loves the seashell)
 At the shore she (loves the seashell)
 Semolina (loves the seashell)
 At the shore she (loves the seashell)
 Semolina (loves the seashell)
 At the shore she (loves the seashell)
 Semolina (loves the seashell)
 At the shore she (loves the seashell)
 She can see the silver sometimes shining on the sea
 Reflecting from the flying fishes, wishing she could be
 A 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 weeds
 Semolina (loves the seashell)
 At the shore she (loves the seashell)
 Semolina (loves the seashell)
 At the shore she (loves the seashell)
 Semolina (loves the seashell)
 At the shore she (loves the seashell)
 Semolina (loves the seashell)
 At the shore she (loves the seashell)
 Semolina
 Semolina
 Semolina
 Semolina
 Semolina
 Semolina
 Semolina