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Sunday
Sunday
We woke up and you made us coffee
I don't tend to drink it
But everything that touches your hands
Is slowly becoming the things that
I want to and need to
Be part of the plan
We walked out your door
And the city was singing
On Prospect Park West
There were old men and women
Just dancing to old songs
The kind that would play
When your parents were sleeping
Inside their old homes
Dreaming while their parents
touched and grew bold
And then we stopped and stared
Up at the clouds
For we had noticed that they'd opened up
And so had the crowd
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The first snow
We all cheered
And I grabbed your face in my hands
And I kissed you and I promised you
That some day
Our best days won't only be Sundays
The world will unfold all around
I wanna go a thousand directions
For just us
And we'll close our eyes
And we'll spin around
Our fingers outstretched
As we fall down
And wherever chance has
Decided that you and I should both be
Guided then that's what we'll aim for
There's no sense of planning
for joy we've been told
But every Sunday we can't help but hope
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