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Month of sundays

by Passenger

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Well I´ve been living in this month of Sundays,
For so long I don´t remember Saturday night,
Broken records don´t play new tunes,
Except for once in a blue Moon,
And I have looked and the Moon is still white.

And i´ve pinned some hope to the summit of some day,
Someone somewhere may do something with this light,
But smokers lungs don´t blow balloons,
Except for once in a blue Moon,
And i´ve looked but the Moon is still white.
Rusty guns fire rusty shots,
Leopards never change their spots,
And fireworks always fade to soon,
Empty words don´t mean a lot,
And from me thats all you´ve got,
But I swear to you one day,
We´ll stand beneath a blue Moon.

Well i´ve been living in this month of Sundays,
And I forget what Monday morning feels like,
Blushing brides and handsome grooms,
Deep in debt from honeymoons,
Stare above but the Moon is still white.

And I have wondered in to wondering if one day,
When the war is won and one finally make two,
Will we think not of what we´re not,
And think of only what we´ve got,
And we´ll go dancing underneath a blue Moon.

Oh black kettles and black pots,
Seem to fight an awful lot,
They make the kitchen the most uncomfortable of rooms,
Empty words don´t mean a lot,
And from me that´s all you´ve got,
But I swear to you darling one day,
We´ll stand beneath a blue Moon.

oh oh oh,
oh oh oh,
oh oh oh oh,
oh oh oh,
oh oh oh,
oh oh oh oh,

So i´ve been living in this month of Sundays,
And I don´t know when this month may be through,
But will you tell me that you´ll wait,
For as long as it may take,
And I swear darling i´ll show you a blue Moon,
Oh my darling I will show you a blue Moon.
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