Sunday Father

Hand in his hands through the park

All afternoon

A fine day to fly balloons or tell him a story

Hand in his hand to wonder

Till day is done

Sunday father and son

Sundays are theirs to explore

Alone by law

One day to keep the two from turning to strangers,

One to know the answers

Be firm, be fun

Sunday father and son

The father weaves through the weekend streets

Sunday alone, Monday comin´on

He leaves the child by a modest home

That they share no more

With the woman who waits indoors

Till she knows he's gone

Where are the words or the games

A place to go

Someway to let him know you want to be with him

Somehow it's always ending

Just half begun

Sunday father and son

Sunday father and son