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
'Til 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 day to know the answers
Be firm, be fun
Sunday Father and son

The father weaves through the weekend streets
Sunday done, Monday coming on
He leaves the child by a modest home
That they share no more
With the woman who waits indoors
'Til she knows he's gone

Where are the words or the games?
A place to go
Someway to let him know you wanna be with him
Somehow it's always ending
Just half begun
Sunday Father and son
Sunday Father and son