Connie Francis. Summer Of His Years. Zeneszám

A young man rode with his head held high
Under the Texas sun
And no one guessed
That a man so blessed
Would perish by the gun
Lord, would perish by the gun

A shot rang out like a Southern shout
And Heaven held its breath
For a man shot down
In a Southern town
In the summer of his years
Yes, the summer of his years

And we who stay mustn't ever lose
The victories that he's won
For wherever "man" looks to Freedom's past
His soul goes riding on
Lord, his soul goes riding on!