Sundays

We used to read the Sunday paper

Sipping coffee in our bed

If it was Spring, we'd plant some flowers in the yard

Or watch on old movie instead

Now I dream about the things we did on Sundays

And I wander through the rooms she left behind

But this house is not a home

I'm living here alone

With memories of Sundays on my mind

There's the piano in the corner

She tried to teach me how to play

A crackling fire at night and two glasses of wine

The perfect ending to our day

Now I dream about the things we did on Sundays

And I wander through the rooms she left behind

But this house is not a home

I'm living here alone

With memories of Sundays on my mind

Sometimes the little things are so painful to remember

But it's hard to say goodbye to the moments I still treasure

Now I dream about the things we did on Sundays

And I wander through the rooms she left behind

But this house is not a home

I'm living here alone

With memories of Sundays on my mind