Kredity
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Zoltan Istvanffy
Electric Guitar
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Zoltan Istvanffy
Songwriter
Texty
Sundays
On Sunday the morning is always a game
Saying the wrong words will kill all the flame
Everyone's silently playing their part
Nobody will ever show a true heart.
All the way, she goes all the way
Trying to find the one so you say
All the way, she goes all the way
Desperate to call it a day
Monday her mood is as happy as hell
No call and no text but all could be well
Tuesday and Wednesday there's no sign at all
The silence on Thursday couldn't be more banal
All the way, she went all the way
Trying to find the one so you say
All the way, she went all the way
Desperate to call it a day
Friday will take away the last bit of hope
Saturday finally claims it's a nope
She goes back to party to start a new hunt
Ready to give it all in right upfront
Rules to break, smiles to fake
How many Sundays will it take?
Joy to flake, cheeks to shake
How many Sundays will it take?
On Sunday the morning will bring a new game
Saying the wrong words will kill all the flame
Everyone's silently playing their part
Nobody will ever show a true heart.
All the way, she goes all the way
Trying to find the one so you say
All the way, she goes all the way
Desperate to call it a day
Friday will take away the last bit of hope
Saturday finally claims it's a nope
She goes back to party to start a new hunt
Ready to give it all in right upfront
Shots to take, jokes to bake
How many Sundays will it take?
Thirst to slake, hearts to break
How many Sundays will it take?
Written by: Zoltan Istvanffy
