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The French Girl (Take 2)
by
Ian Tyson
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Three silver rings... Three silver rings on slim hands waiting Flash bright in candlelight till Sunday's early morn We found her room that rainy morning She took my hand through winding roads and led me home Some red French wine when later waiting In her warm hideaway, she smiled and combed her hair We talked of all, we talked of nothing I left with promises to meet, she told me where Oh, but she laughed each time I asked her name Made promises, they're all in vain But her friends down at the French café Had no English words for me So you may find above the border A girl with silver rings, I never knew her name You're bound to lose, she's too much for you She'll leave you lost some rainy morn, you won't be the same You won't be the same
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