Semolina Semolina Semolina Loves the seashells At the shore she Loves the seashells She can see the silver Sometimes shining on the sea Reflecting from the flying fishes Wishing she could be A little piece of sand that's blown Above the ocean's breeze But all she has is thoughts of all Those fingers peeling seeds And leaving them to mold among The women watching weeds Semolina Semolina Semolina Loves the seashells At the shore she Loves the seashells Semolina Semolina Semolina Semolina Semolina [Incomprehensible] [Incomprehensible]