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Luke Ritchie
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Song To Sundays
This is my song to Sunday mornings,
where Son and Heir find skin,
and as I contemplate the ceiling
and the mysteries therein.
There's something vast in your eyes,
it keeps me small and listless,
here's to my darling fair,
here's to my darling.
Find myself so calm and yet
so unclear…
I wring the tap dry of water –
my little hill-side source –
and then I'll down a flooded river
in knotted loops and folds.
But then I'll simply lie stranded,
like some bloated corpse,
until you rise me up,
till I'm alive again.
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Find myself so calm and yet
so unclear…
I keep the mustard curtains
from when this house was young.
But to me they still shine golden,
from one look,
from one look from the sun.
Take my arms, I feel unrest
no more.
Carry me up and away,
our own sum,
our own sum,
our own sum
our ownsome.
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