Sunday Child

We follow the hearse through the woods
I make dark jokes like he would
Smile
He loved this quiet sun
Try
To celebrate
Child
He said enjoy the life you live
There's nothing you will relive

My father was a Sunday child
I break down on his death bed and he smiles at the day
And my make-up stains his pillow as he's slipping away

Dust
In a beam of spring light
We're all dressed in white
To say goodbye



Credits
Writer(s): Ann Veronique De Visscher
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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