Sunday Lyrics

Over in a corner on a Sunday afternoon

First time, maybe last time, but it won't be soon

Hands are pins and needles, threading out and through

Waving, making patterns between me and you

We run over the window sill

Spilling to the floor

Air and dust around us

Trapped under the door

Flooding all our senses

Until we're senseless, still

And living repetition

Moved by habit, not by thrill

So someday, maybe one day, on a Sunday not too soon

You'll trip, and then I'll fall, and then we can bloom

Halfway into always, a light in a half lit room

Marching down a hallway away from youth

So we'll run over a canvas

Leaving streaks of paint

Making notes and melodies

Of our nights and days

And someday, maybe Sunday

We'll look back and smile

And listen to our music

And walk another mile