I've grown accustomed to his face.
He almost makes the day begin.
I've grown accustomed to the tune
That he whistles night and noon.
His smiles, his frowns,
His ups, his downs
Are second nature to me now,
Like breathing out and breathing in.

I was serenely independent
And content before we met.
Surely I could always be that way again - and yet,
I've grown accustomed to his look,
Accustomed to his voice,
Accustomed to his face.





I've grown accustomed to his face.
He almost makes the day begin.
I've grown used to say,
"Good morning" every day.
His joys, his woes,
His highs, his lows,
Are second nature to me now,
Like breathing out and breathing in.

I'm very grateful he's a man,
And so easy to forget, rather like a habit
You can always break - and yet,
I've grown accustomed to the trace,
Of something in the air,
Accustomed to his face.