Sunday mornings
They are the hardest time
The coffee cups are drunk right down
Unbroken by the phone that sits silent on the side
The sun’s a cliché of the hardest kind
We know the clouds are there behind the rooftops
Just silent ghosts, biding their time
Where are you now?
As I walk the empty streets
Picking up the scraps of torn up anecdotes
What would you say?
Would you laugh and say ‘it doesn’t matter’?
Talk about the weather
While your heart breaks silently
Longing to be home
Sunday’s Child
The silence Sunday brings
Are words on a wing
Sunday’s Child
Sunday morning
Just like any other day
The summer might surprise us yet
As the fog of winter’s dawn gets swept away
Sunday’s Children
No longer have a verse to call their own
They walk through days like orphans
‘Til the crowds come back and flow once more
On our Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Where are you now?
As I walk the empty streets
Looking for the scattered punchlines
What would you say?
Would you shrug the joke aside
Take it seriously and realise
Our hearts break silently
Trying to get back home
Sunday’s Child
The silence Sunday brings
Are words on a wing
Sunday’s Child
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