Souvenirs - Frank Sinatra

There’s nothing left for me

Of days that used to be

There’s just a memory

Among my souvenirs.

Some letters tied in blue

A photograph or two

I see a rose from you

Among my souvenirs.

A few more tokens rest

Within my treasure chest

And though they do their best

To give me consolation.

I count them all apart

And as the teardrops start

I find a broken heart

Among my souvenirs.

I count them all apart

And as the teardrops start

I find a broken heart

Among my souvenirs…