To where can I send my regrets, pretty dancer;
that I cannot again tonight waltz with you?
Back then odds were a better for me,
we would practice steps we well knew,
dancing eloquently, I remember
how the moon itself shone entrancing.
Ring the bells; keep the ones that ring true.
Then I would walk you home, right on my way, pretty dancer;
trying to describe how your smile simply enslaved me,
whispering how perfectly your eyes defined blue.
We would walk past small cafés and shops,
first stories easily swapped that too early December
where music first heard yet familiar never stops.
We rang the bells, if one sounded best, I would ring it for you.
It was around those rosewood tables,
trying to tweak romance in the Bad Timing Café,
you first took my breath away with that smile.
Those very best of my memories were created that way,
no awkwardness as I recall at this.
Seeing you again has caused me to reimagine you;
that happiness, a tonic to me; and just a chance of a kiss.
We rang the bells; keeping the ones that rang true.
To where then can I send my regrets, pretty dancer?