Everyday should be like Sunday,
With your arms wrapped all around me;
Your eyes burning liquid smiles through me,
As we lay, sleepy.

Everyday should be like Sunday,
With music seeping in between us;
Love sleeps, smiling as he dreams us,
And we lay, squeezing.

You may spend your days,
A thousand miles away.
When daylight disappears, I won't have much to say.
You can spend your noontime,
In any way you please.
But promise that you'll save your Sunday mornings just for me.

Everyday should be like Sunday,
With blankets wrestling between our legs;
My heart beating warmly atop your chest,
As we lay, lazy.

Everyday should be like Sunday,
With messy hair and morning eyes;
With no farewells and no goodbyes,
And we lay, spacey.

You might have to say,
I need to leave today.
And in the evenings you might go and run somewhere to play.
At dinnertime you may be inclined,
To leave your hours free.
But promise that you'll save your Sunday mornings just for me.