Each Sunday morning's the same as the one before That's something that means more and more To me, as the years turn into rituals To me - I like the peace, the peace that at home can bring The grey skies of London could tell a tale or two And maybe some are true While some are fables from forgotten times While some - are dreams snatched from thin air What are these stories? But travellers tales While the household lies sleeping I'll set my sails Tales of adventure Fortune and fame Heartache and romance Of pride and of shame Time waits for no man, no man can turn back time I'm guilty of the crime of trying To hold onto days so long gone now To hold - onto love that has now flown Each Sunday morning's the same as the one before