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 were played 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
The first snow
We all cheered
And I grabbed your face in my hands and I kissed you and I promised you that

Someday
Our best days won't only be Sundays
The world will unfold all around us
A thousand directions for just us
And we'll close our eyes and we'll spin 'round
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 in planning for joy we've been told
But every Sunday we can't help but hope