On A Sunday

© 2014 Mark Cote

Quiet writer
Talks to no one
sweeping up disrespect
sees it clearly
without merely
taking what is said

sees the future
sees the past
knows just where he's been
can't tell them
they don't hear him
when the sheep don't see the fence

(chorus) oh, but on a Sunday
                   he will write
                   on a Sunday
                   before the morning light
                   on a Sunday
                   he writes
                   subtle shades of black and white
                   and on a Sunday
                   he writes

lowered head
humbled wisdom
not supposed to let it show
painted people
painted smiles
with crayons of Acme gold

there's a blind man
cries in silence
as they just turn their heads
they don't hear him
they don't see him
never know just what was said

(chorus)
(instrumental)

When the sorrow
makes you older
and makes you open your eyes
maybe one day
maybe a Sunday
maybe a Sunday you will write

(chorus)