This is the Sunday Morning Listen, a radio show in my head.
We wake up to Quando, Quando, Quando and
Know that Humperdinck's question's been answered.

Not of old songs but old times, this is reminding me of old,  
Like jeepneys en route to heaven, but the passenger detoured.

This is the Sunday Morning Listen,your sound is still in my head.

These frayed jeans know you very well.

As every tear became a hole
and every hole exposed my knees,
you ripped them apart some more
they now looked like your jeans.

These frayed jeans know you very well.

They hung on a hook, in a box for a home,
with blankets for a bed,
where love was made
like it's never been invented.